


Silent Discourse

by lorcathegreat



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Assassins, Canon Timeline, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Grief/Mourning, Historically Accurate, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Redemption, Rivalry, Sassy, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Smut, kadar feels, no Maria bashing, pov malik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 128,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorcathegreat/pseuds/lorcathegreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The savage and beautiful ring of steel kissing steel echoed off of the tall gray walls, raised from the hill by generations of Assassins past. It was a sound that they knew well, though not as well as those words that the inhabitants lived by. Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. This is the story of how a reluctant Malik gets roped into being much more than rivals with an egotistical Assassin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood in Brotherhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Silent Discourse. In this fic, I will take you through the trials and turmoil of the events of Assassin's Creed, staying as true to the canon events and timeline as possible, with the added Altmal pairing and everything that entails. There will be smut, there will be adventure, there will be death, but most of all there will be an exploration of the relationship between Altair and Malik as they venture through their eventful lives.

The savage and beautiful ring of steel kissing steel echoed off of the tall gray walls, raised from the hill by generations of Assassins past. It was a sound that they knew well, though not as well as those words that the inhabitants lived by. _Nothing is true. Everything is permitted._ Those words that were uttered as a mantra, to remind those in the Brotherhood of the fragility of humanity and to live by the consequences of one’s own actions.

A man by years but still a boy in attitude played a jeering smirk across his lips, adorned by a still healing scar. Opposite was another man, more wise and disciplined than his superior. In stark contrast to his sparring partner, his own face was contorted into a snarl of frustration. Just one blow, he told himself. Just one hit. Altaїr Ibn-La’Ahad was besting him on every turn, countering each of his thrusts and slashes. They were each completely silent in this, the ringing of their long swords clashing the only noise that they created. All around them, their fellow brothers urged them on, standing around and leaning on the wooden fence surrounding the sparring ring.

Malik Al-Sayf ignored the din of voices, though he could pick out his brother, Kadar’s voice as one of the loudest. He stepped and swung, and was not at all surprised to have his wrist caught. He had not anticipated in that moment that his foe would twist his arm. This caught him off balance and with a swift kick from Altaїr, his legs went from beneath him and he was once again in the dust. There was a brief rise in the volume of the combined voice of his brothers, and it grew louder still as he rose back to his feet, brushing off the fresh bruise he knew he had.

It went on for what felt like an hour, though it was probably only half of that. Malik was staggering and Altaїr was still standing strong. He had not managed to land one blow on the elder assassin, while he knew his own appearance was ragged and dusty from falling to the ground. Sweat dripped from both of their brows, both from their exertion and from the heat of the midday sun.

A voice rose above the crowd. “Malik, yield or you will be useless to the Brotherhood for days!” That was his younger brother. “Why must you keep this up?” Why? Malik made no sign that he had heard his brother, his attention only for the cocky bastard with the sword swaying tauntingly before him. Because this man was his rival. Always had been. They were equally matched in all other studies of physical strength and agility, but Altaїr had always been his superior in sword fighting.

Altaїr gave him a challenging look and Malik lunged forward once more, his rage getting the best of his blade. He was knocked to the ground once again, a fist in his gut forcing the air from his lungs. He struggled to his feet, clutching his abdomen. Each blow had left him aching and threatening to buckle and each time it was harder and harder to stand.

Not yet. He would not yield just yet. There was one more move that he could pull.

He lunged forward, then feigned to the side, successfully catching Altaїr off his guard. He swung his sword around, catching the other assassin’s ankle with his foot and brought him down to his knees, resting the flat of his blade on the back of Altaїr’s drawn hood.

“Yield,” Malik growled.

He could hear the cocky smirk in the other man’s voice, the hood obscuring his features. “Been practicing that move, Malik?”

The assassin moved like liquid silk, his robes blurring in Malik’s vision. He felt another fist in his gut, and then an elbow cracked down on his back. His vision went dark and when he came to, his cheek was pressed to the ground and a boot pressed to the small of his back. He tasted blood and a sharp pain in his mouth told him that he must have bit his tongue when he fell.

            “You cheated,” Malik cringed, a sharp pain in his side telling him that a rib had been bruised. He tried to push himself up, but the foot on his back pressed him back down. 

            “You had not defeated me.” His chilly cockiness did not go unnoticed.

            “That’s enough, Altaїr. Let him up.” The sword master called from outside the ring. Altaїr scoffed and stepped away, vaulting easily over the railing and disappearing into the crowd.

            Kadar was instantly at Malik’s shoulder, pulling him out of the dust. “Why do you let him do this to you, brother? It always ends the same.” Admiration for the winner of the bout was plain in the younger brother’s voice.

            Malik brushed off the question and held his palm to his bruised rib. “Just get me to the healer.” He hated this, being aided by others. He especially hated when his own younger brother was the one to do it. Ever since their father had passed away, he had taken it upon himself to look after Kadar. He ensured to keep him away from dangerous missions, making excuses and pulling strings to keep him at a low rank.

            The brothers ducked into the fortress’s lower level, seeking out the infirmary. Malik was eased onto a bench as he awaited the healer’s attention. Kadar left his older brother, returning to his own studies. Malik continued to stew in his own thoughts, repeating the whole sparring match piece by piece in his mind. Altaїr just seemed to know exactly what move he was about to take. It was humiliating, to be beaten down every time even if he spent countless hours sneaking out of the house at night to practice.

            “Al-Sayf, the elder brother,” the healer said with a familiar air. “What trouble have you gotten into this time?”

            “Not trouble, Mo'alej,”* Malik answered, reeling in his anger. “I just do not know when to yield, or I refuse to when I know I must.”

            The healer motioned for him to remove his robe and Malik gingerly complied. The healer spoke as he gently prodded the new bruising on Malik’s sides. “Is this the work of Altaїr again?” Malik did not grace that question with an answer. “He is very precise in where he lands his blows. Always to cripple with temporary pain and shock, but never striking a vital point. You should be thankful for his expertise.”

            Malik scoffed, but remained silent. Be thankful for that selfish, arrogant perfectionist? He would rather dishonor the Creed than be grateful to that man, and he had been loyal to the Creed ever since he had been born into it some twenty two years ago. Unfortunately, so had his rival, born to a close comrade of his father. But Altaїr always had a loose interpretation of the Creed and only obeyed when it suited him best. It had been years since Malik had been sent on a mission with him, but the stories that he heard from others just reinforced this understanding.

            “Your bruised rib will need time to heal,” the healer brought Malik out of his thoughts. “Keep a tight bandage on it just in case it has been cracked. Other than that, I only see superficial bruising. Rest easy for a few days and-”

            “-And stop getting into sparring matches with Altaїr, I know,” Malik finished sharply. The healer only sighed and began wrapping a bandage around his torso. He knew that Malik would not comply with that little piece of advice, even if he followed the other care to the letter. He stood slowly, muscles complaining loudly, as the healer finished his work. Malik drew his robes on delicately, securing his belt that denoted him as an Assassin in the ninth rank of the Brotherhood. It was yet another bitter reminder that Altaїr was always one step ahead of him, having already been granted a place in the tenth rank, making him a full Assassin.

            Malik took his time walking down the road into the town from the fortress, not taking his usual cliff leaping route. It would be a number of days until he was well enough to perform at that level. He soon found himself at the door to his family home, not surprised when he found it destitute of his younger brother. Kadar often stayed out until sunset training with his fellow third rank Assistants. He was always eager to learn, but was far too keen on the methods that Altaїr used. Malik was constantly trying to teach him stealth tactics and discretion, but his younger brother was too enthralled with the prospect of the chase.

            Malik shook his head as he closed the door behind him, finally able to show how pained he was at his injuries in the privacy of his home. He hissed in a breath and pressed a palm to his side, limping to the chessboard set up in the corner of the room. He sat himself gently onto the cushions there and continued the game he had started with himself the night before.

            It was not until after sunset that his brother slipped into the room, a sac of vegetables in his hand.

            “I thought I would prepare dinner tonight,” Kadar said, his cheerfulness a mask for his concern towards his brother. Malik knew his little brother well but did not call him out on his bluff.

            “Thank you, Kadar. I do not think I could stand, let alone chop and stir in my condition.” Malik fell under the scrutinizing gaze once more, but he ignored it in favor of replacing the game pieces to begin again. Kadar continued on into the kitchen and began building a fire under the stove. “Just do not cook the carrots too much this time.”

            There was a while of silence between them as Kadar prepared their meal. It continued until a bowl of curry was wafted under Malik’s nose. He took it gratefully as his brother sat on the cushions beside him.

            The silence burned on until Kadar quenched it. “Why do you always go up against Altaїr? You are good enough with a blade to win against anyone else in his rank.”

            “I would not expect you to understand, brother,” Malik sighed. “He has always been my opposite. I am subtle while he is loud. I do not agree with his methods, as you know, and I feel the need to put him into his place. His arrogance makes that quite hard to do so.”

            “What do you have to prove, Malik? You have gone up in rank twice just in the past year.”

            That may have been true, but he still was one rank below the man and they were born in the same year. “Just because his father was a Master-”

            “Our father was a Master as well, Malik,” Kadar interjected softly. “You should remember that; you knew him longer than I.”

            Malik could not meet his brother’s gaze. “I do remember our father, Kadar, but he still died when I was still newly a Novice. Altaїr was under his father’s teachings far longer.”

            Silence reigned once more between the brothers as they ate. Talking of death was not uncommon among the Assassins, but they were not untouched by its cold reality and harsh repercussions.

            When Kadar spoke again, it was in a lighter tone, trying to lift his brother’s gray mood. “Perhaps you could challenge Altaїr to a trial of agility. We can put out the flags and see who can collect them fastest.”

            That prospect pulled a tentative smile to Malik’s cheeks. Just the suggestion made the situation all the more outrageous. “I should resort to a Novice’s training exercise to show my expertise to a man who bested me at swordplay?” His tone was dry and not without irony.

            This struck Kadar and he reeled back. “No, no! I only meant-”

            “I know what you meant, Kadar. You mean to play on my strengths. This is beyond childish winning and losing. I mean to prove a point to Altaїr, that his arrogance and manner of carrying out business are flawed and harmful to the Brotherhood.” The bitterness set in once more, as it had been thawed by the warm meal. “You must not see him as a role model, Kadar. His methods are dangerous.”

            The younger’s expression became stony. Malik knew it was a lot to ask, for his brother to stop looking up to that man. It still had to be done. Kadar was Malik’s only remaining family and he would protect him from the poisonous ways of Altaїr.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mo'alej - "healer" in arabic, as far as google told me.
> 
> Oh hey, so I thought I would try my hand at some altmal since I recently succumbed to it. I don't expect it to be very long, but you never know when it comes to my writing. Expect some smut later on, but I won't give it away in case it is a surprise! So this is your fair warning that there will be smut.
> 
> Tell me what you think so far! Sassy characters are my favorite to write, so I'm super excited to continue.


	2. Assignment in Acrimony

The next morning proved to be torturous for Malik’s abused body from the day before. He awoke on his hay stuffed mattress, his ribs aching and muscles stiff. He threw open the curtain to the only window in his small room and saw the deep blue sky of a new dawn approaching. He slowly stretched his muscles, being careful of his bruised rib. There was still some time before the market would open to retrieve some breakfast, so Malik took his time in preparing for the day ahead. He re-wrapped his torso in tight bandages, just as the healer described, before slipping into a cleaner set of robes. He would have to do washing soon, he knew, but the prospect of kneeling and scrubbing with his body as battered as it was left him dreading the chore. Perhaps he could convince one of the novices to wash it for him.

            After a wash and a shave, Malik pushed forward and faced the day. First stop was the marketplace, where he bought some fruit and flatbread for his breakfast. Mourning his lack of mobility that morning, he would sorely miss eating his meal in his usual spot atop a roof in the town, overlooking the bustling life below. As it was, he dined instead just inside the gates of the Masyaf fortress, observing the early morning comings and goings. It was always busier in the morning and the evenings, as the midday sun tended to drive most people indoors. There were young novices, eyes still drooping with sleep, carrying on their morning duties around the fortress. Even more mid-rank assassins, those who lived within the fortress, were heading to town to market just as Malik had done.

            He was just finishing his meal when he saw an unmistakable white hooded man stalk past the open gates and continue up the hill to the library. Malik scoffed. Altaїr always seemed to be called for more missions than the average man in his rank. Perhaps it was favoritism on Al Mualim’s part. Subconscious or not, Malik thought, the man deserved no more praise than any other man and he perhaps needed less of it. No doubt he needed less.

            Malik pulled his hood over his head and was content to stew in his own thoughts until a tentative voice broke through his irritable reverie.

            “Mister Al-Sayf?” he looked up to find a novice not over the age of ten standing before him. Taking this as an acknowledgement, the youth continued. “The Mentor has summoned you.”

            “Very well,” Malik sighed as he pressed himself away from the wall, catching his breath as the motion sent a sharp pain through his torso. Ignoring the concerned novice, he made his way up the path that Altaїr had taken not minutes before. A sense of dread fell over Malik. Perhaps his string of luck in getting tolerable mission partners had finally run out.

            As he reached the top of the stairs of the library and approached the Mentor’s study, all of his suspicions were revealed to be true. Altaїr stood before Al Mualim, a statue before the pacing old man.

            “Mentor,” Malik greeted, bowing his head to his superior. He swore he saw Altaїr twitch at the sound of his voice, but otherwise made no movement to acknowledge his presence.

            “Malik, I am glad to see you up and well. I have been informed that you were injured in a sparring match yesterday.” Al Mualim appeared to mean no harm by his statement, but it still cut deep. Did the entire city know of his defeat?

            “Nothing I have not handled before, Mentor,” Malik replied evenly. He ignored the quiet humored scoff from Altaїr. “I am able to perform whatever duties you assign.” It was a lie, he knew, but damn it Malik was not about to let on how damaged he was from the fight while his rival could hear.

            Al Mualim nodded and continued pacing. “I have heard that there are four Templar captains in Damascus who are spreading lies and rumors about the Brotherhood. You two are to travel there and silence them permanently. You will report to the Rafiq and conduct your own investigations. Take time to gather your supplies; you will be leaving tomorrow morning.”

            “It will be done,” Altaїr replied dismissively, all business in the moment. Perhaps he did take his assignments seriously after all. He turned, exiting the study silently and efficiently.

Malik bowed his head once again. “Thank you, Mentor.” As Malik turned to leave, the man spoke up again.

“Malik, I wish to get a report on what exactly the information is that Templars are spreading about us. If you can, listen in on their whispers before you silence them.”

“I will see to it that I gain as much information as possible.” Malik turned, but paused, a burning question needing to be asked. “Mentor, if I may ask…”

“Go on.”

“Why have you sent me on this mission with Altaїr? Certainly there is someone in his own rank who you could have sent in my stead.”

A smile crossed the old man’s bearded face. “I know well of your rivalry, Malik. I also know of Altaїr’s tendency towards non-discrepancy. It is my intention to have you teach him your own ways and to keep him in check. He is well on his way to being one of the most skillful men we have in the Brotherhood, but he lacks discipline.”

“I would not disagree,” Malik confided. Finally, he thought, even the Mentor knows of the faults of this mighty arrogant man.

“Go then. Rest and prepare for your journey.” Malik bent his head once more and descended the stairs, heading into the courtyard where swordplay lessons had already begun in the sparring ring.

That infuriatingly proud hooded figure leaned on the descending railing just above the sparring ring. Malik set his teeth and pressed on, determined to ignore the man who was obviously waiting for him to walk past. Ignoring Altaїr was useless at the best of times. If he wanted someone’s attention, he got it by whatever means necessary.

Malik braced himself as he passed the man. Moving and striking as silently as a snake, Malik’s arm was caught in the other’s grasp and he was pulled to a stop. “Are you certain you are well enough for the three day ride to Damascus, brother?” Altaїr would have sounded concerned if he did not carry that smug smirk on his face.

Malik tore his arm away, silent rage echoing in his actions and voice. “I will be well enough by the time we depart. Thank you for your _concern_.” He pressed on, but the other assassin fell into step beside him. After a moment of silence, Malik’s annoyance peaked. “What is it that you want, Altaїr?”

“As partners, we should become comfortable in each other’s presence. A united team is far more useful than two single assassins.” His tone was dripping with false camaraderie.

Malik’s tongue was sharp in response. “We will have altogether too much time for that on our journey. Leave me in peace until then; at least you can do me that one mercy.”

“As you wish,” Malik glanced over to see the briefest of sly grins before the man stole away, getting lost in the crowd. Malik let out an exasperated sigh. The gall of that man.

Upon returning to his residence, empty of his brother as usual, he began to gather the necessary supplies for his journey. He came upon his dirtied robes from the day before and stared at them with disdain.

He took them up and went to the washing fountain in the town square. As he suspected, there were a number of women crouched and washing, but there were also a few novices in their midst. He approached one of the youths and added his robes to the pile already set beside him.

When the novice looked up to him with a look of distress, Malik narrowed his gaze challengingly. “Wash these and return them to me before the day is done. I have need for them in my mission tomorrow.” The boy nodded his head reluctantly. Satisfied, Malik set off towards the library. Before he got ten strides from the washing fountain, an infuriating cocksure voice wrapped its way behind his ear.

“Your ribs are bothering you.” It was a statement of fact, not a question. Malik did not turn, did not jump at the voice. He would not give him the satisfaction.

Malik responded to Altaїr without dignifying him with a glance, his tone sharp. “Yes, and I wonder why that is.” He could see the man beside him out of the corner of his eye. Why the sudden interest? It was rare for Altaїr to approach him so frequently. Malik brushed the thought off, deeming it not worthy enough of his time to worry over.

“Is that why you are forcing your washing onto novices?”

“They must know their place within the order.” Their Mentor had instructed him to teach Altaїr his place. Why not begin now? “Were you never forced to do menial tasks?”

The other man scoffed, a smirk carrying over to his tone. “No one ever dared.” Smug bastard.

“For good reason. I’m sure you would have scrubbed holes into their washing.” Malik’s voice exuded scorn. “Do you not have to prepare your traveling gear for tomorrow?”

“I am always ready to depart on a mission.”

“No doubt.” Sarcasm dripped from Malik’s lips. “Are you going to the library to study as well or are you simply following me to build on my annoyance?”

“I have no need to study,” Altaїr replied. Could one man be any more conceited?

“Then it is the latter, I see.” They were heading up the hill to the fortress by now. “Go make yourself a nuisance elsewhere, Altaїr. I have no need of it today.”

The other man simply shrugged. “As you wish.” He melted away into the crowd just as he had done before, blending into the other assassins in the courtyard.

Finally left of his rival, Malik gave a sigh of relief and entered the library, choosing a desk and setting to work. He worked, pouring over maps of Damascus and the surrounding kingdom. He continued on until the late afternoon, only stopping to eat a quick lunch before resuming his studying. He had spotted several inconsistencies and inaccuracies between the various maps. He made note of them as he went.

His deep concentration was abruptly interrupted as he sensed a presence just over his shoulder. He knew who it was without needing to turn to look.

“Remove yourself from my presence.”

Altaїr leaned further over his shoulder, not close enough that he was touching the other man, but Malik’s personal space was certainly being rudely invaded. “Why study maps when you already know the land?” His demeanor emphasized his lack of respect for the art.

Malik contained his annoyance for the moment, but only barely. “You know nothing of passing on knowledge, do you? Assassins young and old use maps to learn and strategize.”

Altaїr shifted through the sizeable stack of maps spread about on the table, Malik twitching in irritation. “But why study them so intensely? Are you so out of commission that you could do nothing in the training arena?”

Malik ignored the jibe at the state of his condition. “These maps are outdated. I mean to take notes on our travels as to where the outposts are.”

Altaїr scoffed at that, drawing away from the parchment as if it were some dead thing. “This is a scholar’s work. Work for old men.” He obviously did not hold them in the highest of regard.

“You would do well to learn some respect, Altaїr.” Malik’s tone was erring on a threat, his fists clenching unconsciously. He dared not start an open conflict within the walls of the library, but if he had been anywhere else he would not have hesitated, bruised rib or not.

“Is that the task Al Mualim gave to you?” That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. The sheer cocksure posturing of the man drove Malik over the edge.

He stood abruptly, his searing gaze turned on the assassin. “ _Leave_ , Altaїr. Your presence is a stain upon everyone here.”

Altaїr allowed a smirk to bloom across his cheeks, further infuriating the other man. “If I did not know better, I would say that you dislike me.”

“ _Get out_ ,” Malik growled loud enough to turn the heads of a few scholars.

That smug smirk did not leave his face as he turned to go. “I will meet you at the South gate at dawn tomorrow.” Malik did not dignify the man with an answer, turning back to the maps that Altaїr had mussed and straightening them with an agitated air. He took his sweet time rolling the maps back up and replacing them on the shelves, not wanting to accidentally come across that damned bastard on his way home.

The sun was setting by the time he walked into the front door to his and his brother’s home. Kadar was already in the kitchen with a pot steaming on the stove. His greeting fell on deaf ears as Malik stormed past him and into his room. He found his clean robes folded on top of his traveling gear.

“A novice dropped those off a while ago,” Kadar said from his doorway, leaning on the frame. Malik simply grunted an acknowledgement. He could feel his younger brother’s stare boring into the back of his head. “Is it Altaїr again?”

Malik drew a hand down his face in agitation. “We are going to Damascus tomorrow to take care of some business for the Brotherhood.” That was all Kadar had to hear before he knew exactly why his brother was so upset. Malik turned to look at his brother just in time to see the jealousy in his eye before Kadar looked away.

“Are you sure you are well enough?”

“Of course I am,” Malik snapped, the sharp response startling his younger brother. “Sorry,” Malik sighed, “It has been a long day.”

“Obviously,” Kadar replied, raising his eyebrows. “Dinner is ready,” he said dismissively, turning away and heading back to the kitchen. Malik followed him after a moment, clearing his head of his anger. It was not fair to take out his frustrations on his brother, even if the boy had an unhealthy obsession and admiration towards the bane of his existence. He joined Kadar on the cushions as they dined, keeping the conversation to superfluous and mindless topics. It would not do to go on a mission if he left on a sour note with his only remaining family.

As they finished their meal, Malik stood, glad that the sharp twinge in his side had not returned for the moment. “I’ll be gone before you get up, so stay out of trouble while I’m away, Kadar.”

“I always do, Malik,” his younger brother replied with a roll of his eyes. “Don’t lose your head with Altaїr.”

“That I cannot promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts so far? Is it sassy enough for you? I'm having way too much fun with these two.
> 
> I'm going to try to update once a week. I have a one chapter buffer, so that should help.


	3. Traverse in Torment

There was a chill in the air the next morning, just as the first rays of sun began lighting the dark sky. Winter was quickly approaching and the nights were getting colder by the week. Malik gathered his packed bags after equipping his standard weapons and slipped out the door and into the quiet street. It was too early for the market, so he would have to rely on the food that he packed for a breakfast on the road.

This was not a day that he was looking forward to. In fact, he was not looking forward to the mission as a whole. Normally, he was excited to leave Masyaf, but the prospect of journeying for three days on top of carrying out the mission for who knows how long with Altaїr was something he had been dreading for a long time. It had only been a matter of time until he was put together with his rival.

Malik set his teeth. If the Mentor wanted him to keep Altaїr in check, then damn it all, that is exactly what he was going to do. He was determined to not let the other assassin get under his skin. He was going to make the best of this less than ideal situation.

He exited the gates, finding the standard two horses posted outside just for the use of assassins heading out on missions. Siding up to the black horse, Malik proceeded to secure his bags to the saddle. As he finished this, he turned his gaze about him, looking for his companion. It had been Altaїr who suggested they meet up at dawn, so why was he late?

            Malik waited just outside the gate as he watched the sun slowly rise above the surrounding mountains. Damn Altaїr for being late. He definitely could have gone to the market to get breakfast, but if he left now, Malik knew for sure that that damned assassin would show up and blame him for being late.

            Impatience just about got the best of him when he felt a prickle at the back of his neck. Someone was watching him. Suddenly wary, he opened up his senses, listening and waiting. It was not long in coming.

            Malik drew his sword just as he heard a muffled thud just behind him. He turned and his blade met steel. At the same time, his dark eyes met amber, bright with mischief.

“A challenge so early in the morning? I’m impressed. I had thought you sorely beaten from our last bout.” Malik twitched, irritated at the comment. No, this trip was not going to go well at all. Altaїr was beyond redemption. Nothing could make this man humble or obedient to the Creed. He was always going to be an overconfident, cocky, arrogant fool.

“You are late,” Malik growled, not releasing the strain on their blades. It was a power struggle on two fronts: one with words, the other with brawn. Malik was certainly not backing down from either. “You said to be here at dawn, and it is well into the early morning.”

Altaїr let out a provoking chuckle, shrugging and putting away his short blade. Malik sheathed his own blade after hesitating a moment. He knew the man well enough not to trust him when it came to weapons and the like. “You are the one who should know that I never wake before the sun. Perhaps you should have taken that into consideration.”

“I do not make it my business to know every detail of how you live,” Malik growled. It was true that he did not know everything about the man’s habits, but he certainly knew more of the other man’s lifestyle than he knew any other member of the Brotherhood, besides his own brother. He stalked away towards the horses, making sure his own saddle was secure and his bags tied. Heavy hooves pounded the ground before him and he looked up to see Altaїr staring down at him, his horse prancing, antsy to be on his way.

“Come, Malik, we have a three day ride ahead of us. What is taking you so long?” Malik did not have time to voice his sharp retort as Altaїr spurred his horse into a gallop and disappeared around the corner of the canyon.

Malik sneered and mounted his horse, ignoring the sharp pain from his bruised rib. If Altaїr insisted on hard riding for most of their journey, then this trip was going to be well out of his injury’s comfort zone. It still hurt to cough, let alone ride. Malik carried some medicinal herbs to chew if he needed to dull the pain, but he would rather not let on to his companion of his struggles. He already felt weak enough in his presence.

He spurred his own horse on, chasing after the man. He balanced himself to minimize the jarring of the horse’s gait, but it still left him cringing with pain.

It took Malik a good hour to finally catch up to his companion, who was letting his horse graze on some hay in a cart. He pulled his own horse opposite and let her eat. Malik pulled out some bread from his travel sack and began his belated breakfast.

“I thought you would never catch up,” Altaїr chided, sitting back in his saddle and stretching his arms above his head.

“I thought you could not be more of an ass, but I guess I was wrong as well,” Malik replied dryly. Altaїr smirked and nodded, giving that one to his partner. “We should keep moving,” Malik continued. “The Templars start their rounds on the road before midday.”

Altaїr stared at him challengingly. “Your horse needs a rest.”

So did Malik, but he refused to voice that particular point. His ribs were throbbing from the strain of exertion. He looked about and saw a wooden outpost to the east. Finishing off his bread, he took out his notebook and made a note of its location, its fortifications, and the number of guards he could see around it.

“Doing an old man’s job again?” Altaїr scoffed.

Malik did not dignify him with a glance. “Not all of my talent lies within the blade. Sometimes I use my mind, unlike someone else I know.”

“One should not speak ill of a younger brother,” Altaїr quipped.

The last straw had been plucked. His voice was sharp as he spat at his companion. “Look, this mission can go one of two ways. It can be vaguely tolerable, or it can be the most miserable thing we have ever done in our lives.” He looked up from his notes, expression dark and challenging. The cocky smile on Altaїr’s lips faded just slightly at the intensity. “Making jests about my family will force me to err towards the latter.” His voice dropped an octave. “You do not want me to do that.” Even Malik was unsure what he would do if it came to that.

Altaїr tossed his head back, the sun catching his scarred, crooked grin beneath his hood. “Are you sure you are in a position to challenge me?”

“Do not try me, Altaїr.” The other assassin simply shrugged in response. Silence fell between them as their horses ate. Malik made a few last notes on the outpost in his notebook and placed it back in his bag. “We should go,” he said lowly, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“Lead the way,” Altaїr replied, just as neutrally.

Malik pulled his horse away from the hay and she turned away reluctantly. He walked her around the cart and past Altaїr, who he eyed suspiciously. He spurred his horse into a smooth gallop, not bothering to look behind him to see if his companion followed. They continued on for a good two hours until the pain in Malik’s ribs became unbearable. Fortunately, he came across another wooden outpost. He pulled his horse to a stop, her sides heaving from exertion. He took in a shallow breath, pressing a palm to his rib. Damn, perhaps he should have kept his pride in check and refused the mission after all.

Pounding hooves approached as his companion caught up. Straightening quickly, he took out his notebook once again, quickly scratching notes on the position of the outpost.

“We should not stop so close to where Templars are,” Altaїr said flippantly as he approached.

Malik waved him off. “We are far enough away that they could not possibly recognize us. Besides, we are too close to Masyaf for them to be a threat.”

Altaїr turned away in agitation. “We should keep going. If we have to keep stopping every few hours, it will take us four days to get to Damascus.”

“Fine,” Malik conceded, replacing his notebook once again. “I will take shorter notes, but I am still going to stop and record these locations.”

And so the day went, Malik stopping every few hours to catch his breath, covering it up by taking notes on outposts. The sun was quickly setting when they drew their horses well off of the road, finding a clearing to set up camp for the night. Malik gingerly dismounted his horse, tying her to a nearby tree. Altaїr followed suit and they retrieved their bedrolls from where they were tied on the saddles.

Malik turned to seek out firewood and kindling. As he returned, he found Altaїr already tearing off and chewing pieces of dried, spied meat, sitting on the ground without having continued setting up camp.

The meager amount of wood that Malik had collected was tossed to the ground in frustration. “Are you planning on helping or will you simply sit around like a lame horse?”

Altaїr chewed and swallowed before responding, sounding a touch too pompous. “I am your superior. I am above menial tasks.”

This man really knew how to dig under his skin. “You are also my partner on this mission and if we are to get anything done-”

Altaїr threw his arms into the air before him. “Fine, I’ll set it up.” Malik was decently satisfied as he watched his companion stand and go in search of more wood. Malik took that opportunity to slowly stretch his side and back muscles, trying to ease the tension that had accumulated over the long ride. He unrolled his bedroll and sat upon it, finding his own food rations. As he began eating, Altaїr returned with a good amount of wood and began propping the pieces together, setting the kindling on the inside. As he finished, he gestured to the unlit fire and sat back on his own mat, continuing with his dinner.

Malik stared at Altaїr, who did not look back. Resigning to his task, he dug in his bag and brought forth a flint and steel. He sparked it beside the kindling, growing more and more impatient as it refused to light.

“Having trouble?” The other man’s voice gave away the cocky grin that his face did not reveal.

The other man continued rasping the flint on the steel. “I am sure you, with all of your superior skill, would be able to start the fire with much more ease.” He allowed the anger from the pain of his rib seep into his words.

Altaїr shrugged, sitting back nonchalantly. “I’ll let you be the expert here.”

“You will let me?” Sarcasm rolled off of his tongue as sharp as a knife. “I am sure your kindness also knows no bounds.”

He could just barely see the grin form on Altaїr’s lips as he laid back, hands behind his head. “None.”

Malik finally got the fire lit as the last rays of sun disappeared behind the surrounding cliffs. By the firelight, he removed his assassin robes, revealing to his deepest shame the bandages around his chest. He knew he had to tighten them, as they had come loose over the hard ride. He turned away from his companion who he knew was staring intently. Though he was expecting it, no witty comment came from Altaїr and he was able to rewrap his ribs in peace.

The next day went the same as the first. They set out early, though not as early as Malik desired, and continued on until they came across another outpost. Malik drew his horse to a stop, taking out his notebook to document its location. His ribs were not hurting thus far, but he knew by the end of the day they would be aching once again.

Altaїr reigned in his horse beside Malik, impatience clearly written across his half obscured face. “This again? Has it really been this long since you have left Masyaf?”

In all reality, it actually had been a good month since he had been sent on a mission. “Long enough, though I just recently came across the need to update the maps.”

He could feel Altaїr’s peering eyes looking at his scribbled notes. “Is this the additional assignment that Al Mualim gave to you?”

Malik spared the man an annoyed side glance. “It is not. Why do you keep asking? Did our Mentor give you an additional assignment as well?” By the way Altaїr let out a sharp sigh and turned away, he figured that he had not. That was one small victory at least. Al Mualim trusted him more than Altaїr to retrieve the information from their targets. “I am doing this of my own accord to better the Brotherhood.”

A knowing smirk crossed the other man’s lips. “Trying to catch up to me, are you?”

“I am not trying,” Malik stated, placing his notebook back in its bag and spurring his horse on. “I am succeeding.”

They continued on, stopping in a village to water their horses and fill their water skins. Normally, Malik would stop in the village market for fresh food, but Altaїr convinced him to continue on.

They were a full day’s ride away from Damascus when they stopped to set up camp for the evening. They repeated the campfire ritual from the night before without conflict. They ate their travel rations in silence as the sky darkened, the flames of their campfire spreading long shadows on the cliff face behind them. They both kept their backs to the cliff, eyes constantly and automatically scanning the surrounding darkness for lingering threats.

The ride that day had not been as torturous on his ribs as the day before, but Malik still resigned himself to rewrapping the bandages. He could feel the other man’s eyes upon him once again as he slowly removed the wrapping, but he was determined to ignore him.

Malik was unsuccessful on that front. “Are you really so fragile?” Altaїr’s question was not entirely scornful or judgmental, but Malik perceived it as such.

“I am following the healer’s advice, no more,” he replied sharply. The chill of the evening pricked his skin as he began winding the bandages around himself once again.

Altaїr scoffed lightly at that. “Always the dutiful follower.”

At that, Malik turned to his companion, gaze as sharp as his tongue. “As we _should be_.”

Altaїr simply shrugged in response. “Rules can be bent.”

“No they _can’t_ , Altaїr,” Malik replied quickly, scornfully. “Not when the Brotherhood is on the line. Not with the Creed.”

“In what way does bandaging yourself have to do with the Creed?”

Malik stared indignantly at the man. “Everything has to do with the Creed, Altaїr. If I am unfit, I may pose as a weak link in the Brotherhood and I cannot compromise the Assassins.”

Altaїr raised his eyebrows at that. If Malik did not know better, he would have thought that the man looked impressed at his conviction. He further challenged Malik. “There can be fault in following something so blindly. Is that not what they teach us?”

“That is what we teach others,” Malik explained, securing his newly wrapped bandage. “We must follow orders and strict laws to keep our own power in check; otherwise we could dissolve into madness.”

Altaїr shrugged and lay back on his sleeping mat. “Is this what you study in the library for days on end?”

“This and many more topics,” Malik replied quickly. Wait, how did Altaїr know that he was constantly in the library? Perhaps the man kept just as close an eye on Malik, just as he watched Altaїr. Malik brushed the idea from his thoughts, pulling his robes back over his head. When he glanced back over to his companion, he found the man with his eyes already closed and resting. He shook his head and followed suit, turning his back on his rival. That man may not fully understand the Creed, but one day he would, for better or worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tension is rising! Stay tuned for more sass, next Friday when I post Chapter 4: Information in Irritation.


	4. Information in Irritation

The weather was noticeably colder in the evening when they approached the high walls of Damascus. Malik was very much looking forward to resting in the bureau rather than on the hard ground. Although they had to make do with cushions instead of beds, it was luxury compared to their travel conditions. The pair slowed their horses as they drew closer, under the ever watchful eye of the gate guards.

They pulled their horses up beside the stables and retrieved their travel bags, departing some coins on the stable boy to watch over their mounts. Malik glanced at the entrance to the city and the four guards standing vigilant. If they tried to press through them, they would certainly get caught. They were both heavily armed, which always drew some amount of attention, especially when there were no crowds to blend amongst.

Malik glanced about for his options. He spotted a group of white robed figures and he smirked. The Rafiq must have been informed that they were coming and sent the scholars out to aid them. He headed towards them, not bothering to pull his companion along. Altaїr would follow if he knew what was good for him. Malik approached the group of scholars and nodded a silent greeting.

“Where is your partner?” One of the white robed men asked in a whisper, head bowed under the heavy hood. “We were told there would be two of you arriving.”

“He’s right-” Malik turned as he spoke and his words fell short as he failed to see Altaїr. He scanned for his callow companion, his stomach dropping as he saw the white figure climbing up the side of the wall. “That idiot,” Malik growled. He turned back to the scholars. “He is making his own way. Let us go in before he is spotted.” As a group, they lowered their heads, hands grasped before them, and slowly headed through the gate. With his trained ear, he could hear the light steps and creaks of Altaїr leaping from beam to beam above his head. He gritted his teeth. Such recklessness would-

Not five paces away from where he walked with the scholars, the assassin dropped down from the beams above, landing in a heavy roll. Altaїr had failed to see the guard standing just around the corner from where he broke his fall.

“Stop! That man, stop him!” An uproar of riling guards erupted around them. Malik glanced over just in time to see a white robed figure disappear into the twilight shrouded city with a sizeable group of guards hot on his trail. He sighed, still blending with the scholars.

“Is that Altaїr?” One of the scholars beside him asked quietly as they slowly made their way through the almost deserted streets.

How was it surprising that the scholar knew that was Altaїr just by seeing his actions? “I assume he does this frequently.” He did not keep the disappointment from his tone.

“Subtlety is not his strong suit, though he is well known as a deadly swordsman. We supporters of the Brotherhood in Damascus revere him for his talent.”

Malik scoffed. “Not surprising. He has always been talented with the blade.”

“We must leave you here, Assassin,” another scholar whispered, and the group halted.

Malik nodded. “Thank you for your assistance and subtlety, friends.”

“Peace be on you, friend,” the first scholar bid him farewell. The assassin pulled away from the group, continuing down a dark alleyway in the direction of the bureau. He stole through deserted streets, widely avoiding watchful guards as he went. The sky was a deep blue by the time he came upon the alcove beside the bureau. He climbed the ladder, listening and watching intently as he reached the top to make sure he was not followed or spotted. He dropped into the bureau, setting his traveling bags beside the cushions before continuing on through the doorway.

The Rafiq looked up from his desk as the assassin entered. “Welcome, brother.”

“Rafiq,” Malik responded in greeting, bowing his head briefly.

“Where is your partner?” Malik sighed at the question. Indeed, where was he?

“He had to outrun the gate guards. He should be along soon.”

The Rafiq turned his full attention towards Malik, crossing his arms over his chest. “Partners should help one another. Why are you not alongside him?”

Malik made an exasperated gesture. “He went off on his own and he was spotted. I lost sight of him.”

That earned him a disappointed shake of the Rafiq’s head. “It is your duty to move and act as one, Malik. You should know better than to allow him to get separated from you.”

“You are blaming me for his callow actions?” Malik was incredulous, though he made sure to keep himself in check in front of his superior. “He moves independently. There was nothing I could do, nothing I _should_ do. If he gets himself killed-”

“If he gets himself killed, the fault would be partially yours,” the Rafiq cut him off sternly. “Altaїr may be stubborn and fiercely independent, but you must work as one.” Malik began a retort, but he was cut off by a sharp hand gesture. “No, Malik. You are as much in the wrong in this as Altaїr. Go rest and I will explain the circumstances of your mission tomorrow. There is bread and curry for you if you are hungry. Be sure to leave some for your partner. Contemplate my words and sharpen your blades. A dull mind is just as dangerous as a dull blade.”

Malik pursed his lips at those words. He watched as the Rafiq turned his back and disappeared behind a curtain that lead to his personal chambers. He quickly ate his portion of the meal offered to him, leaving the lantern lit inside the bureau in case Altaїr also wanted to dine. Malik then busied himself with washing off the dust of the road from his face and neck at the fountain. He drank deeply of the cool water, shivering as his skin dried in the chilly evening air. He then retrieved his whetstone from his bags and began sharpening his blades as the Rafiq instructed.

The wear of travel caught up to him and he felt his eyelids droop. He rewrapped his bandage before collapsing onto the cushions, huddling to stave off the night’s chill. Not long after he closed his eyes, a heavy body dropped and rolled into the bureau. Malik did not bother waking to greet his companion. He feigned sleep as he listened to Altaїr perform the same ritual as he had done, beginning with the meal and continuing on to wash in the fountain. He did not, however, sharpen his blades. Instead, he stifled the flame in the lantern and collapsed onto the cushions beside Malik. He was just close enough for Malik to feel the heat radiating from his body. Malik ignored the other assassin, continuing to pretend he was asleep. He listened to the man’s breathing beside him as it gradually slowed to the deep pulls of sleep. Only then did Malik allow himself to also fall into sleep’s embrace.

Malik woke well rested for the first time since he had left Masyaf. The sky was just beginning to brighten through the grate of the bureau’s enclosed patio roof. He glanced over to his companion, sprawled out on the cushions, dangerously close to invading his own sleeping area. The man slept on, his hood pulled back, which was a rare sight to see. Malik found himself studying the serious expression that Altaїr wore even in sleep. Malik snorted slightly at that thought. Serious was a much better look on him than cocksure.

He contemplated waking the assassin, but ultimately decided against it. Instead, he pulled his boots on and buckled his belts in place, climbing out of the bureau as quietly as he could. The least he could do for the Rafiq was to offer him a fresh breakfast in return for the meal he provided the night before. He immersed himself in the district market, already bustling that early in the morning. Large cities always began their day earlier than small villages like Masyaf, which was nice for early risers like Malik. He picked up some sweet bread, jam, and some berries, taking in the sites of the city and becoming more familiar with the atmosphere. It had been far too long since he had ventured this far away from Masyaf on a mission.

A voice slipped beside his ear, catching him unawares. “I trust you are not starting your investigation without my leave?” It took all of Malik’s restraint to refrain from jumping at the familiar voice that trailed over his shoulder. He turned to find the black-robed Rafiq with a soft grin on his face, his white hood pulled up into place.

Malik shook his head, feeling suddenly intimidated by the man. “I was just getting some breakfast for us,” he replied defensively, “and getting a better feel for the city. It has been many months since I have been to Damascus.”

The Rafiq nodded. “I cannot stop you from doing that. In fact, your initiative in knowing your surroundings is thoughtful and admirable. Your companion, however…”

Malik allowed a mirthless grin to cross his cheeks. “Altaїr never gets up before the sun.”

“I trust that his brashness has not transferred to your decisions. I seem to recall that you are very thoughtful in what actions you take.” They had begun meandering through the crowd, slowly making their way back to the bureau. “I expect you are eager to advance in the ranks within the Brotherhood. You have gained another rank since the last we met, have you not?”

Malik nodded, but drew his brows together. “Yes, but Al Mualim does not send me out on many missions. Altaїr is gone for three weeks out of every four of the month and I am lucky if I get one mission in that amount of time.”

This earned him a sigh and a nod from the other assassin. “Our Mentor has plans for each and every one of us. He plays on our strengths. Perhaps he feels you are more suited to scholarly work.”

“I am just as competent with a blade as Altaїr,” Malik snapped before he could stop himself.

“That may be,” the Rafiq said, “but you also have other strengths. Think upon that as you carry out this mission.” They came upon the ladder leading to the rooftop of the bureau. Malik followed his superior up and into the hideout. They found Altaїr awake and sharpening his sword.

He looked up as they dropped in. Malik saw his eyes narrow just slightly before turning back to his work.

“Malik has brought us breakfast. Join us if you wish, Altaїr.” The man smirked and nodded in response, but continued running his whetstone along the length of his sword. Malik shook his head and continued on into the bureau.

Altaїr joined them shortly after they had begun eating, sitting beside them silently and taking up a sweet bread. There was certain heaviness to the air around the three. A question ran through Malik’s mind of whether Altaїr would get told off for the manner of their entrance the night before. He was not long in waiting for the answer.

“Altaїr, I am certain that I do not have to discuss your actions with you,” the Rafiq stated, his tone rather stale. He had obviously confronted the assassin about this many times before. Malik had to stop himself from smirking; after all, he was at fault as well, according to the Rafiq.

Altaїr did not look up from his bread. “I would have been fine if that guard had not been off of his post.”

Malik opened his mouth to give a scathing comment, but the Rafiq beat him to it, keeping his voice even, speaking as a teacher to a pupil. “An assassin must always be prepared for the unexpected and adapt accordingly. He must also not perform such actions that would cause him to attract undue attention. You would do well to follow Malik’s actions.” At that, Malik could not help the small smile of victory that spread to his cheeks. He knew that burning amber eyes were turned on him, but he did not give the man the satisfaction of witnessing his glare.

“Tell us where to begin our search and we will begin our mission,” Altaїr snapped, standing from where he sat on the rug beside the other two assassins.

The Rafiq sighed and stood as well, stalking behind his desk and bringing out the log book. Malik dutifully followed, glaring daggers at Altaїr as he passed. The two younger assassins listened intently as their superior spoke. “I have been informed by my contacts in the city that there are four Saracen captains who have been spreading slander about the Brotherhood. They have been stationed around the city. One is in the northern section of the Poor District, another is east in the Middle District. There has been one lurking near here, and there is another in the middle of the Rich District. I expect you to gather information in your investigations before you take action, but you do not need to report your findings to me. Just bring me the proof of their death.” Four white feathers were placed on the counter and Malik took them up before Altaїr could get to them.

“Thank you, Rafiq,” Malik bowed his head and met up with Altaїr, who was already outside in the enclosed patio.

The other assassin did not meet Malik’s scathing gaze. “Let’s go,” he said lowly, leaping to catch the ledge of the entrance without waiting for a response. Malik sighed and followed, ignoring the stab of pain in his side.

Altaїr was waiting for him in the street. He only half turned towards Malik, keeping his face obscured from sight. “Give me two of the feathers. We will be more efficient if we split up.”

Malik scowled. “No.” The other man turned slowly to glare at him, his eyes shadowed by his hood. Malik did not back down. “We are partners and we will complete this mission together.”

Altaїr turned away. “Fine,” he said begrudgingly. “We will start in the Poor District.”

They went on, weaving through the crowds in the street. When they came across the guarded gate, they climbed over the wall rather than call upon the scholars to slip past the guards. A loud voice called over the crowd, drawing the attention of the two assassins. They blended with the crowd and listened to the crier.

“-band of miscreants threaten our very lives! They are always watching, waiting for a chance to strike where it hurts you most. If you value the lives of your families, trust in the city guard and inform them of suspicious activities at once!”

Malik saw Altaїr begin to move and grabbed his elbow, stilling whatever rash action he had planned. “No, we wait until he is alone.” The man nodded silently in response, obviously put off by the restraint. They pulled away from the crowd and sat upon a nearby bench, waiting for the announcer to finish repeating his message of slander and lies. He recited his speech twice more before stepping off of the platform. The two assassins watched him as he disappeared around a corner into an alleyway, off to find another platform to perform his announcement again. Altaїr stood, Malik close in his wake. They stepped silently behind the man, following him away from prying eyes. Altaїr was the first to strike. He took a fistful of the man’s shirt at the base of his neck and tossed him forward, sending him stumbling into a stack of wooden crates.

The man turned, fists bared and fear in his eyes, and saw death staring him in the face with bright amber eyes. Malik hung back as the assassin went to work, pummeling the man with staggering blows. The man was bleeding from a split lip before he gave up, collapsing to the ground to his knees.

Altaїr picked him up by his shirt. “Where did you learn this information? Who instructed you to spread these lies?”

The man’s eyes were large with fear. “I know now that they are not lies.” Altaїr raised a fist and the man cowered. “No, please! His name is Abdul Al-Aziz. He- he is a captain.”

“Where can I find him?” Altaїr growled.

“He usually patrols the plaza in the afternoon. That is all I know. Please, let me go!” He was a pitiful sight, blood from his split lip dripping slowly onto his shirt, cowering behind his hands.

“I cannot let you continue to spread lies. Your life is mine.” The distinct scrape of an activated hidden blade was muffled by the flesh it was embedded in. The man did not cry out, but looked to the sky as the life faded from his eyes.

His body slumped to the ground, Altaїr turning away from it. Malik stared at the assassin before him, expression so cold and calculating. “You did not need to kill that man,” he growled lowly as they quickly left the body behind.

“He would have told our target that we are after him. He works for the lying Saracens and the Templars, if Al Mualim’s beliefs are true. There was every reason to end his life.” Malik remained silent after that comment, shaking his head and following his partner. His words may have been true, but there was always the possibility that the man was innocent, that he was not in fact working for the Templars. Malik knew this information would be wasted on Altaїr. What was done was done. They had a name, a place, and a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, more action! More sass!  
> It's hard writing a fic that goes along with the correct history of the times and the lives of these characters. Their back stories are so detailed and I'm such a detail-oriented writer that it's been a trial to get everything matched up. So far I'm satisfied, but if I get something out of order, my apologies! I'm trying my best to stay true to the cannon while adding in some delicious altmal... eventually. (This fic was supposed to only be three chapters long... how did I let myself get so carried away?)  
> Next time on Silent Discourse: a death and a struggle! Stay tuned for next week's chapter, Unsubtle in Undertaking!


	5. Unsubtle in Undertaking

Noon was upon them when they reached the plaza that the city crier had explained. They chose a shadowed corner to wait in as they scanned the wide open area, so full of people and life. Soon there would also be a death. They waited for what felt like an hour before they simultaneously spotted the distinct uniforms of Saracen guards walking in formation on the far side of the plaza.

“That’s him,” Altaїr stated, sounding all too certain. He began to walk forward, but Malik caught his arm as he had done before.

“Wait, Altaїr. Do you know for certain that this is Abdul Al-Aziz? We do not want to kill the wrong man.” The assassin shrugged Malik off with an annoyed air.

“I know,” Altaїr snarled through his teeth, “because I can see his intentions. He is the one with the helmet walking in front.” He held out a hand. “Give me a feather. The first kill is mine.”

Malik was skeptical, but he drew a white feather from a pouch at his waist and handed it to the man. He would observe the other assassin’s actions; see what techniques he was prone to using. Perhaps he had been relying on others’ observations for too long. He needed to see Altaїr’s style firsthand. The feather was taken, and the hidden blade was out in the open.

Altaїr turned, blade bear for all to see. He had begun sprinting before Malik could voice a frantic protest, reaching out in vain to stop him. He was on the captain, blade deep in his chest, before Malik could push his way through the crowd to stop him.

There was an eruption of chaos. When Malik finally forced his way through the frantic, screaming throng, he found Altaїr, sword drawn and with four guards surrounding him, the dead captain at his feet. He drew his own sword, leaping at the closest guard and impaling him in the back. He choked, but did not cry out as he fell. Malik wrenched his sword from the corpse and turned to find another guard upon him. He could hear steel on steel ringing through the din of screams and he saw Altaїr staving off two guards at once. Malik was brought back to his own challenge when a flash of silver caught his eye and he parried the blow easily. With a low swipe, he severed muscles on the back of the guard’s legs, making the man collapse before him. Malik swept down, blade pressed to his neck.

“What lies has your captain been telling you about the Assassins?” Malik hissed, the sword barely cutting into the man’s neck, a thin trickle of blood making its way down his tender skin.

The man spat in Malik’s face, but the assassin refused to release his hold. “All you Assassins want is to aid the Christian King and murder all those who would protect the rightful ruler of this land.”

“That is not our cause,” Malik said lowly. “You have been lied to. How did your captain come to tell these lies? Who does your captain answer to?” He could see the life in the eyes of the guard leaving as the blood from the wounds in his legs pooled about him. Malik tossed the man to the ground and turned to find his companion doing the same with the last of his guards. He moved to Altaїr’s side and urged him on. “Let us be gone before any more unnecessary blood is spilled,” he growled, voice dripping with acid.

As they stole away down a dark alleyway, they heard a guard call after them. Malik cursed under his breath and ran faster, Altaїr easily keeping up. They ran until the disquiet was far behind them, but the guard was still close on their tail. Altaїr stole to the side and climbed up a scaffolding structure. Malik looked at it with distain, his side already throbbing, but followed regardless. At the top, Altaїr stopped, drawing a throwing knife.

Malik saw the intent too late. “Altaїr, _no_ -” The knife was thrown and the guard fell. Malik turned to spit a reprimanding comment at his companion only to find that he had begun running once again. Malik followed, anger reaching a boiling point. They came to a stop in a deserted, dark alleyway. Both strained their ears for any sound that they were followed.

Malik opened his mouth to lecture his companion, but was silenced when a reddened feather was flashed before him. “The first captain has been dealt with. One of the four is silenced.”

“Yes, him along with five others,” Malik’s voice was sharp and scathing. He sighed, knowing he could never get through to the man. “We should report back to the Rafiq.”

Altaїr replaced the bloodied feather in a pouch at his side. “The Rafiq does not approve of my methods. Perhaps you could put in a good word for me. He listens to you.”

Malik stared at the man incredulously. “ _I_ do not approve of your methods.”

“I am an assassin. I take lives,” Altaїr said with conviction, ignoring Malik when he tried to respond. “We are men of action. Why do methods matter when the job is done?”

“We must always be in control of our environments.” Now he felt like he was lecturing a Novice who refused to listen. “Discipline wards off chaos.” It was one of the first lessons that they learned when they began their studies in the Brotherhood. He should not have to tell a man who was a full member of the Assassins this basic information.

“That man was spreading lies about us. I ended his life to stop the chaos that would result from those lies continuing.” It would have sounded like logic if the man had not disregarded all of his teachings.

Malik gestured exasperatedly in the direction that they had run from. “Did you see the chaos that your actions caused?”

The man’s tone was carefully neutral. “Short term chaos is excusable if the long term mission is upheld.”

It was hopeless. Malik sighed, flustered. “Your actions were unnecessary,” he said scathingly.

Altaїr turned on him, one fluid motion bringing him within arm’s reach. Amber eyes burned with the fury that was reflected in his words. “Fine, how would you go about it, _Master_?”

Malik stood his ground, unflinching at the man’s confrontation. “With _discretion_. Find out when the guards change, wait until he is alone. Wait, listen, watch,” he concluded, emphasizing those last three words.

Altaїr tossed a hand in front of him, an impatient gesture. “That would take days. The captains are spreading rumors as we speak and we are to put an end to them as soon as possible.” If there ever was a doubt in Malik’s mind that this man was unsurpassed in his stubbornness, it was rendered nil.

“We are to silence them, not cause mass upheaval. If we openly murder them, we will only perpetuate those lies that they are telling. Do you not see the irony of your actions?”

The rancor in Altaїr’s voice reached a new height. His fists clenched and his shoulders stiffened as he spoke. “Did Al Mualim send you on this mission to lecture me? Because you are excelling at that.”

Malik’s reply was just as sharp, though he was careful to keep his volume in check in case there were guards nearby. “He told me to listen to the lies being spread, Altaїr. I am lecturing you because everything you do creates a scar upon our Brotherhood’s reputation for subtlety.”

The other assassin growled. “I am your superior in rank. You should not be telling me what to do.” It was a threat, but Malik failed to heed it, instead adding to the already scorching flame.

“Obviously you were given your title for skills outside the realm of thought and common sense.”

A flash of anger crossed those already burning amber eyes and Malik anticipated the man’s action just a fraction of a second before the fist came barreling towards him. He caught it just in time, only to be distracted from the other fist that barreled towards his chest. The knuckles buried themselves into his side, but Malik twisted just in time for the blow’s full force to be glanced off. Malik retaliated, slamming his palm into Altaїr’s shoulder and sending him off balance.

Malik began to straighten, but the other assassin recovered faster than he anticipated. Before he knew it, an elbow was jammed into his injured ribs and a shooting pain racked up his side. A cry of agony came unbidden to his lips and he curled upon himself, his already injured ribs screaming. He saw the man falter at his reaction beside him just slightly. Taking the opening, Malik cupped his fist in his hand and turned, using his momentum to slam his elbow in full force into Altaїr’s nose. He did not hear a crack, but by the way the man staggered back, grasping his face with blood trickling down his chin, he knew he at least done some damage.

Both men stooped over, clutching their injuries and breathing heavily, staring daggers at the other. Altaїr straightened first, holding the bridge of his nose and wincing as he sopped up the blood from his chin and lips with his sleeve.

Altaїr was the first to speak, his voice muddled by blood. “Those bandages weren’t just for show?” His tone was not entirely without sympathy, though it carried a large overshadowing animosity.

Malik hissed as he drew in pained breaths, his ribs protesting loudly. “Did you think me unscathed by our sparring match? The healer said that you missed vital points, but-”

“I never aim to kill when sparring with a brother.” The insolent man was obviously offended that Malik would think of such a thing of him.

He managed to straighten, the shooting pain retreating to the usual dull ache. The anger had been somewhat satisfied as he relished in the sight of the man’s bloody face. His comment was almost conversational in its tone. “There have been plenty of times when I thought you were.”

The smirk that spread across Altaїr’s face was unexpected, but anything was better than his fury. Those were the times when Malik was unsure that he would live to pull another breath. As it was, the expression was a welcome sight. “Anything to silence your tongue.”

Malik tried his best to keep the lingering anger from his words. They came out as a dry deadpan. “And here I thought that I was the one doing the silencing.”

The laugh that Altaїr erupted with was, for once, not full of scorn and superiority. It was genuine mirth. Somehow, this did not infuriate Malik as much as he had expected and he found his mouth slipping into a reluctant smile.

The laughter was short lived, but the good nature still persisted as Altaїr asked the question that he had obviously been holding since the beginning of their journey. “Why did you come on this mission if you were still so hurt?”

Malik rolled his eyes. “I can’t let you reach Master before I do, can I?”

Eyebrows were raised at that comment. “You think you can beat me to it?” The man was skeptical.

“Someone has to put you in your place.”

Altaїr grinned, placing a hand on Malik’s shoulder, the touch lingering noticeably. “I would like to see you try.” Malik stared back dubiously and shoved the arm away. It was a far too companionable gesture to let continue.

“We must report back to the Rafiq. Try to not attract attention on the way.” Malik gestured vaguely to the blood smeared on his partner’s lips and chin. Altaїr simply rolled his eyes in return, wincing once more as he attempted to wipe his face clean. It was a hopeless effort without a wet cloth and the blood on his sleeve was no less alarming.

The pair stumbled into the bureau just as the evening bells rang through the city. They found the Rafiq behind his counter, his nose buried in a book. He glanced up as the two entered, his brows drawing together as he saw Altaїr’s mess of a face.

“What happened here?” His voice was accusatory rather than worried. Malik saw Altaїr’s expression grow stony. Without waiting for an answer, the Rafiq continued. “Were you successful?”

Altaїr drew forth the reddened feather and presented it to the man, proof that blood had been spilt. “The job is done,” he replied, voice just as hard as his expression. “The Saracen captain Abdul Al-Aziz is dead.”

The Rafiq took the assassination log out from under the counter and opened it to its current page. He did not look up as he wrote. “And the manner in which it was done?”

“Unsubtle but efficient,” Malik replied before Altaїr could talk his way out of answering the question. He stole a scathing glance at his companion. “The insolence has been dealt with.” Altaїr scowled back and glanced away, his hood obscuring his features.

At that, the Rafiq glanced up at the pair, generally unimpressed. “Indeed. Rest now and continue with your investigation when you see fit.” He looked directly at Altaїr, who did not meet his gaze. “And wash the blood off of your face. You are unsubtle enough as it is; no need to paint yourself with your intentions for all to see.” At that, Altaїr scowled and turned, stalking out onto the patio.

As Malik made a motion to follow, the Rafiq shot him a question. “Did you discover what slander has been said about the Brotherhood?”

Malik nodded once. “Some. They have been told that we have sided with the Christian King in his conquest to reclaim the Holy Land.”

The Rafiq rubbed his chin, eyebrows coming together once again. “That is troubling news.”

“I will try to extract more information from our next targets. I was unable to speak to this captain before he was silenced.” He did not let his annoyance go unnoticed.

That comment drew the criticizing stare of the Rafiq towards him. “I still expect you and Altaїr to work together.” Malik pursed his lips as he continued. “I assume that his injury did not come from the target.” Again, Malik did not comment. He thought of telling the man that the fight had been started by his companion, but he refused to say something so petty. In the end, he simply nodded his head and excused himself from the Rafiq’s presence.

Malik found Altaїr crouched before the fountain, orange light from the sunset playing across his bare back as he scrubbed furiously at the blood stains on his robes. Malik sat himself gingerly on the cushions, digging through his travel bags for his cleaning cloth and wiping down his blade. He stole a glance at his companion’s turned back as he worked, noticing the muscles rippling across his shoulders as he scrubbed at the cloth. He was mesmerized by the movement, by the scars both new and old that were scattered across his light olive skin.

He was only broken out of his reverie by the Rafiq informing them that he had dinner prepared if they wished to partake. Altaїr stood with a muttered curse, leaving his robes to soak and heading to search in his own travel bags. As he approached, Malik suddenly became aware that he had ceased cleaning in favor of staring at his partner. He quickly went back to work as Altaїr dug out a second set of robes and pulled them over his head.

Altaїr stopped at the bureau door and turned back to stare expectantly at Malik. “Are you coming?” His voice was full of scorn and resentment.

Malik set aside his blade and followed, struggling to clear his mind from the thoughts swarming in his mind. This man was his rival and he had despised him for as long as he could remember, so why was it that this man fascinated him so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey peeps, you guys should review and tell me what you think so far! I'm having so much fun writing this thing, it's ridiculous.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Camaraderie in Conflict!


	6. Camaraderie in Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You get this chapter early because I will be away from my computer for the next few days. Also, because I am nice and a good person and I don't make you wait <3

“These men don’t know anything.”

“How do you know? They have not even spoken yet.”

“I can see their intentions.”

Malik rolled his eyes at his companion, sitting beside him on the bench in the Rich District plaza. The two characters they were listening in on looked suspicious enough to him to warrant a closer look, but Altaїr thought differently. This was the third conversation that they had listened in on, and the third conversation that Altaїr had correctly predicted to be unhelpful or uninvolved with their search for the second captain.

“Fascinating,” sarcastic praise dripped off of Malik’s tongue. He stood and glanced around. “Perhaps with your superiority you could conjure up some information for us.”

A low, self-righteous chuckle came from his companion, still sitting on the bench with his hands clasped before him. “This is _your_ captain to find and silence. Please, show me the proper way to uncover information, _Master_ Malik.”

If Malik had any less restraint and a lower tolerance for his own pettiness, he would have kicked the man. He was determined to learn information without resorting to killing the informer, but so far his attempts had all run flat. All of this had not gone unnoticed by the cocky bastard he had for a partner, and he was not silent in pointing it out. It was already almost noon and all of their efforts had thus far been in vain. He knew they should work together, but Malik was determined to not stoop so low as to ask for help from his rival.

As it was, Malik turned and stalked away, not bothering to look back and see if Altaїr followed. Soon enough, there was a brush at his shoulder and a whispering voice in his ear. “Perhaps we should listen in on some guards instead of civilians.”

“I do not need your help,” Malik growled at him. He could see the crooked, scarred smile as Altaїr sided up to him.

“No, but you will take my advice regardless.” Malik rolled his eyes. This man was insufferable.

They sat upon a bench in the shade of a mosque and listened in on a group of guards stationed at its entrance. Altaїr gave Malik a knowing and victorious smirk that the other man ignored.

“Has the captain told you anything else about this new menace trying to destroy Saladin?” The first guard asked his two comrades.

One of them shrugged. “I heard that the Christian king had gotten new recruits.”

The third guard scoffed at the two. “You are obviously not in Qusay Saqqaf’s inner circle.” Malik honed in on the words. “It’s the Assassins. They are the ones infiltrating his army and adding to its strength. They mean to take over.”

The first guard looked aghast. “I thought the Assassins were only a rumor.”

“The captain of the Poor District was killed yesterday by a knife wound in his chest. You can’t tell me that is not a coincidence,” the third guard divulged.

The second guard added. “None were left alive.” Malik shot his companion a scathing glance, but the man was intently focused on the conversation between the district guards.

“Will Hameed Ali be appointing a new captain?” Now they had two names to look into: their target and possibly the captain’s superior officer.

The third guard, apparently in close contact with their captain, shook his head. “Not until this assassin is dealt with.”

Beside Malik, Altaїr stood. “We will hear no more.”

Malik glared up at him. “If we follow that guard,” referring to the third man, “we may find our target.”

“Why follow him when we can interrogate? It makes for quicker results.” That man was insufferable.

“Quicker, yes,” Malik conceded before sharpening his voice. “But also idiotic and unnecessary.” At that,  the other assassin sighed and sat back down on the bench. They waited a good while until the guards changed, sitting in tense silence. As the third guard walked away, the two assassins stood in unison and followed the man at a distance, weaving through the afternoon crowds. Malik could sense the impatience wafting around his companion but was content to ignore it wholeheartedly. As the guard approached a building with bars across the open windows, Malik breathed a silent sigh of relief. The man had led them to the district’s guard post. The pair waited until the man closed the door behind him and stole to the window, sitting just outside of its viewing range.

“Captain Saqqaf,” the now familiar voice of the guard carried out of the window, “I wish to report.” After a silence, he appeared to receive permission to speak. “The guards on the plaza did not know of the assassin attack yesterday. Is it in the plan to keep this silent?”

“Only those with the loudest voices are told of this threat,” a gruff voice answered. It stirred a deep mistrust in Malik and by the way Altaїr’s brows drew together, the feeling was mutual. “Those who openly speak out against the Assassins are always in danger.”

The guard’s voice held fear in place of the arrogance it once had before his peers. “Then why did you tell me to speak out?”

“Your life is meaningless in the grand scheme of this war. It is an ageless battle that you could not possibly comprehend. It reaches beyond the scope of the Crusades.” If there ever was a doubt in Malik’s mind as to who his next target would be, it was washed away by the man’s words. His disregard for the life of his comrade was almost as condemnable as his affiliations with the Templars.

The guard was clearly shaken. “Y-yes, Captain. I will take my leave.” The two assassins dissolved into the shadows behind the building as the man emerged, carefully looking over his shoulder for any potential threats before hurrying on. Little did he know that he would live to see another day, even as he was being watched by the two men he was so terrified of.

The door opened once again and the two assassins saw their target stalk out into the street, confidence emanating from his proud gait. He walked on, unaware of the threat that followed in his footsteps. They went on for quite a while, weaving through crowds and passing through markets. Then, the man made a fatal turn. He strode through the entrance to a dark alleyway, and the two assassins quickened their pace to follow.

Malik’s breath caught in his throat, almost suspicious of the man’s actions. He stepped into the alleyway regardless, as did his companion, and they followed the man on silent feet. He turned one more corner, and Malik stole forward to strike. His hidden blade was out and he was upon the man just as he was turning, the look of suspicion turning to one of shock and dismay. Whatever confidence he once showed was gone, his sense of invulnerability thrown to the wind as the blade slid silently into his chest. Malik angled his strike so as to not stab the man’s heart, keeping him alive long enough to question him.

“How did you-” the man gurgled, his legs failing beneath him. Malik eased his victim down onto the ground, hidden blade now pressed to his throat.

“Tell me about Hameed Ali and the lies he has told you,” Malik growled, pressing the blade into the soft skin.

The man choked out a laugh. “Why should I tell you, Assassin? How do you know it will not be a lie?”

“This is your last moment alive. You will not use it to further corrupt this world, Templar. Now tell me, what lies have you been spreading?”

“Do you know what we Templars do? We instill fear in the people. We make them fight for our cause by planting information into their tiny, manipulatable minds.” The man wheezed in a wet breath. “Saladin has retaken Acre and Jerusalem, so we must stand and fight to keep Damascus safe from the Christian King. You Assassins fight for peace,” Saqqaf spat, “we are achieving it.”

“Through war and lies?” Malik growled.

“Through conquest and leadership,” he replied.

“There is the problem with leaders,” Altaїr quipped. “They are easily silenced.”

Saqqaf coughed, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. “Silenced, maybe, but once the words are said they live on.”

“It ends with you,” Malik finished, slicing the man’s throat. The throes of death were silent and ended quickly. A feather was pressed to his red neck and replaced in a pouch at the assassin’s waist. Malik withdrew his hidden blade and stood to face his companion. “One target, one name, one death.”

Altaїr shrugged him off. “I could have done it in half the time.”

“Yes, and for the other half you would be spending escaping the guards that caught you. I revealed information to relay to Al Mualim about the Templar plans. I also have a name for the man behind the rumors.” Malik strode past his partner, who followed and fell into step beside him as they weaved their way through the dark alleyways. “If you had interrogated and killed that guard, you would have killed an innocent. Qusay Saqqaf had set him up as bait for us.”

“No affiliates of the Templars are innocent, whether they claim to be Christians or Saracens.” Altaїr replied, though his excuse fell flat. It was a weak argument, and he knew it.

Malik shook his head. “I will not continue to argue with you about this. Let us return to the bureau and inform the Rafiq of our findings and of Qusay Saqqaf’s death.”

“Lead the way,” Altaїr conceded. With that, Malik stole him a challenging smirk and took off at a sprint, climbing up a stack of crates and catching the ledge of the roof. He glanced over to see Altaїr climbing up beside him, a crooked grin on his face. Malik ran with light feet across the roof, leaping from one building to the next, his companion not too far off. The twinge of pain in his ribs was noticeable but not bad enough to slow him down.

The two assassins reached the rooftop entrance of the bureau simultaneously, though by different routes.

They dropped into the bureau and approached the Rafiq together. He glanced up and appeared to be pleased at the sight of the two men looking at least companionable.

“Greetings, brothers. I sense that the day went well. What have you accomplished?”

Malik stepped forward, presenting his bloodied feather to the man. “Qusay Saqqaf, the Saracen captain of the Rich District is dead. He spoke of Hameed Ali. He is supposedly the one spreading the lies to the captains.”

The Rafiq nodded at this, taking note in the Assassin ledger. “He must be the Templar behind all of this. I will send word to Al Mualim of this man.” He retrieved a pigeon from a cage beside the counter. “Go rest; I will have a meal prepared soon.”

“Thank you, Rafiq,” Malik said before retreating, Altaїr following suit. Malik went straight to the fountain, washing the blood from his hidden blade and splashing water onto his face and neck. Altaїr sat on the cushions, drawing his sword and running his whetstone along its length. Malik soon joined him, removing the rest of his weapons and storing them off to the side before sharpening his own sword beside the man.

Feeling oddly companionable, Malik asked the question that he had wanted to ask the man for hours now. “What did you mean when you said that you could see our target’s intentions?” It had been the second time that the man had mentioned it, and Malik was burning to know what exactly it was.

Altaїr was readily receptive to the question, oddly enough. Malik figured he answered simply because he enjoyed bragging about himself. “It’s a special sight. I don’t know how to describe it. I have been training myself on how to use it. I call it Eagle Vision.”

Malik scoffed. “That’s not pompous.” He looked to Altaїr to see him raise an eyebrow, but a smirk formed on his lips. Malik took a stab in the dark. “What can you see of my intentions?”

Those amber eyes were concealed, Altaїr’s expression falling flat as he closed his eyes. When they once again fell upon him, Malik felt like they were burning through him. The odd feeling sent a shiver down his spine that had little to do with the evening chill. The gaze broke and the smirk was back again.

“Not entirely sinister,” Altaїr replied, returning to sharpening his sword.

Malik rolled his eyes. “You are just saying that because I am not brandishing my blade at you.”

Altaїr feigned surprise. “You do not believe me?”

“I do not believe anything that you say.” It was meant to be lighthearted, but by the way Altaїr’s expression fell, leaving only a hollow smirk behind, that is not the way it was taken.

Altaїr laughed quietly, mirthlessly. “You have that in common with Abbas.”

Malik took a chance, prying into the man’s life, seeking answers that he knew he could get nowhere else. He was not entirely sure why he wanted to know. “You two were close once.”

“Perhaps.” The man would not meet Malik’s gaze, discomfort obvious in his tensed shoulders, his sharpening motions stilled.

It may have been too much, it may have begun a conflict, but Malik dared to pry further. “You have history with him. You were partners from a young age.”

Malik did not expect the smirk that flashed across Altaїr’s features, those bright amber eyes flashing mischievously at him. “Jealous?”

The other assassin sat back, aghast. He stumbled to answer. “Why should I be jealous that he was forced to be in your presence?”

Altaїr chuckled softly, turning back to his blade. “Perhaps I have read you wrong all these years.”

Malik scowled. “Perhaps you were right all these years and just now you are reading me wrong.”

The conversation was interrupted as the Rafiq announced their evening meal. The pair set their blades aside and followed the man to partake in the offered food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Getting along? Blasphemy! I have been loving your comments, keep them coming! (Kudos are nice too, thank you kudo givers!)  
> Next time on Silent Discourse: some action! Whoo! Stay tuned for next week's chapter, Pinched in Pursuit!


	7. Pinched in Pursuit

The moon shone through the wooden grating as Malik woke, disturbed from his sleep. He blinked up at the night sky peeking through the foliage above him, confusion his only thought. He was never awoken at night without being called from sleep by another. He rarely even dreamed, his sleep typically undisturbed by noise or movement. His groggy mind tried to wrap around what exactly had woken him.

Malik opened his senses, seeking out what exactly had disturbed him. He heard the heavy breathing of one fast asleep and his ankle was constricted. Malik curled his head up to peer down and saw a figure clad in white with his arm securely wrapped around his calf, his face pressed to the fabric of his pant leg. Malik had to stop and stare at the man, his expression so relaxed in the moonlight. It was almost peaceful enough to not want to disturb.

Malik was struck by the absurdity of it all, his companion curled around his leg as a child would hold a beloved toy. He stopped, though. The warmth of the embrace seeped through the rough fabric, those hands so trained in the art of death gripping instead in peace and security. Malik briefly toyed with the idea of allowing the man to sleep on.

Vengeance still hung too heavy on his heart for all of the years he spent trying to catch up to the man’s shadow. Now that Altaїr was seeking comfort from him, he could not abide by it.

In a swift move, he pulled his leg away from the embrace. The sleeping man grunted as he was jarred awake, but it turned into a shocked cry as Malik struck his face with the heel of the foot that the man was just holding. Altaїr was instantly up, a knife materializing seemingly out of nowhere and flashing in his hand.

Malik feigned waking. “Have your night terrors gotten the best of you?” He could not keep the contempt from his voice.

Altaїr released a slow breath, calming himself and sheathing the knife in his hand. He stole a scathing glare at Malik, eyes dark in the soft moonlight. “Some men kick in their sleep, it seems,” he growled lowly, gingerly touching around his right eye and wincing noticeably. Malik had to keep the look of triumph from his expression. Now the man would have a black eye as well as a swollen nose.

“Some men still cling like a swaddling babe,” Malik countered sharply, keeping his voice low to not disturb the Rafiq. That earned him another searing glare. Ignoring it, he rested his head back on a pillow and closed his eyes. The other man let out a frustrated growl and flumped back onto the cushions. When Malik glanced over, he found the man with his back firmly turned towards him, his arms wrapped securely around himself.

Let it be a lesson, Malik thought as he forced himself to fall back asleep.

\---

The next day brought the pair closer to completing their mission. They walked the crowded streets of Damascus, each with their senses wide open for any whisper of information. They were in the Middle District that day, mingling with the rabble and listening in on their stories. Word of the two captains’ demise had reached the ears of the people, though they kept the topic under the veil of a whisper.

Malik looked to his partner, his expression taught and carefully neutral. The stark darkness around his right eye and the red puffiness around his nose gave him a swell of triumph every time his gaze fell upon the injuries. It gave him as much glee to see them as the scar on the man’s lip had in the days after the sparring match in which Malik bestowed it upon him. He was careful to keep this from Altaїr, though now he was constantly wondering if the man was using his Eagle Vision on him, not to mention using it to look through the intentions of other people.

As it was, Malik knew he would have to answer for kicking his comrade in the night, either from the man himself or by the Rafiq with his scathing words condoning their animosity. He was lucky that they left before the bureau leader had a chance to see them.

Altaїr had remained silent on the issue, surprisingly enough. Malik had expected prodding from the man, or at least a few cutting remarks, but he was left to his own thoughts.

Altaїr drew to a stop, pulling his partner by his sleeve to slip into the shadow beside a market stall. Malik was about to speak when the man held up a silencing finger, attention only trained on two men standing on the opposite side of the street. Malik honed in on their words, careful to not look directly at them as he listened. That was a novice mistake, to look directly at one who he was trying to conceal himself from.

The two men were dressed casually, but they carried themselves as city guards would. Malik figured that they were either incognito or off duty. “I have an order from the Captain. He refuses to leave his quarters except when he is needed. Something about this Assassin threat has him scared. He figures that he will be their next victim.” He produced a piece of paper. “I was told to retrieve these items. The delivery time and place are marked. The Captain refuses to let anyone near his quarters, so he will be picking them up himself.”

The other man looked at the list, a look of distain falling over him. “Why so many items?”

“Naveed Abujamal is afraid that the Christians will try to take over Damascus.”

“Very well,” the second man conceded, pocketing the list and turning away.

The two assassins turned towards one another, a silent argument between them as to who would be the one to retrieve the letter. Altaїr eventually nodded for Malik to go. He slipped among the crowd, brushing past the civilians and closing in on his target. Retrieving the letter was a simple matter of timing and soon he was back at his companion’s side, paper in hand. They unraveled the note, skimming past the long list of supplies and their eyes fell upon the meeting place and time.

“So, Naveed Abujamal will be in the southern market just after the midmorning bells,” Malik said to his companion, softly but loud enough to be heard over the bustle of the market. “That does not give us much time.”

Altaїr smirked. “That poor man was going to have to buy all of these items and carry them all to him in an hour?”

“Our target must be quite scared.”

A hint of bloodlust passed over those amber eyes. “As he should be.”

Soon, they entered a different market, immersed in different smells and sounds. This one was much more open than the last, with wider streets and more sparse merchant stalls. It would be harder to find a secluded spot here. Malik glanced around, unsure of where to start. He looked to his companion and once again saw those eyes looking as though seeing through everything before him. Eagle Vision.

“What do you see?” Malik inquired, still feeling unsettled by the man’s ability.

Altaїr scanned around, then stopped, honing in on a certain man. He was glancing behind him; a twitchy man. “Him,” Altaїr said softly, stepping directly towards him.

“We need to get him to a secluded spot. We are too exposed here to perform a subtle kill.”

Altaїr nodded at this. “He will try to run. You stay on the streets; I will take to the rooftops.” How the man knew that their target would run was beyond Malik, but he nodded and stepped forward towards their target, Altaїr dissolving into the crowd beside him. He saw a flash of white sweeping across the roof of a building and knew the man was in position. Malik continued on, only making himself known to Abujamal when he was close enough for him to not easily slip away.

The man’s eyes widened, and in a flurry of limbs, he turned and was at a sprint, tearing down a side street, away from his reaper. Malik followed closely, amazed at the man’s speed. He did not look back at his pursuer. The assassin could hear his sharp breathing, terror getting the best of his judgment. As if on cue, Altaїr dropped from the roof down to the ground, effectively blocking the target’s escape from the narrow street. Abujamal skidded to a stop and turned frantically, arms flailing, only to stop again as he saw Malik closing in. His arms were caught and pinned as Altaїr pulled him into a secure lock, too tight for the man to even think of breaking away.

“No, not yet, _please_ ,” he pleaded, his voice a squeak of fear. “I never wanted to be a Captain!”

“Excuses will do you no good here, Templar. Tell us what you know of Hameed Ali,” Malik growled at the man.

“T-the Grand Captain? He is the Templar, not me! I only get letters, I have never seen him. Allah above, let me go! I know nothing!” The man struggled uselessly against Altaїr’s grip. Malik did not believe a word that the man uttered. If he knew about the Templars, then he was affiliated with them.

“What of the rumors of the Assassins joining the Crusaders?” Malik further pried.

The man nodded frantically, trying anything to get the two to let him go. “Yes, yes! I was told of these rumors. I was told to spread them as if they were truth. I did only as I was asked.”

“And we are doing as we were asked.” Malik let his hidden blade snap out, easily driving it into the man’s chest to touch his heart. The man gasped and convulsed once, twice, and fell limp. “May death provide you the peace you could not seek in life.” Altaїr lowered the body to the ground, Malik closing the dead man’s eyes. He bloodied a feather and replaced it in a pouch at his waist.

Altaїr nodded and they left the body behind to be found.

“The last captain is around the bureau, yes?” Malik questioned his companion, who nodded and turned in the correct direction as they came to the sun-filled street, its occupants so oblivious of the death that had occurred just moments before.

\---

Malik cursed, weaving around passerby in the crowded street, feet stirring dust as he sprinted. Stupid, _stupid._ He never should have let Altaїr talk him into splitting up to seek out information on their fourth and final target. He should have sensed the ill intent with his Eagle Vision and found the man first. But perhaps the other assassin had not been as fortunate in his findings, or in Malik’s case, unfortunate. He had been spotted, the guards somehow knowing exactly who to look for regardless of how well Malik blended in to the crowd.

Word had spread quickly of the death of the third captain that same day. The sun was casting long shadows behind the assassin as he ran. If they had waited until the next day to pursue their final target, their endeavor would have increased in difficulty tenfold. It was better to strike when the enemy was still scrabbling to form a defense, or so they thought.

He dared not look behind him, though the shouts of the trailing guards had long since fallen away. He was stopped in his tracks, however, when a towering man easily twice his size in height and muscle blocked his way. The citizens gave him a wide berth, as they rightfully should. Malik did not need Altaїr’s special vision to see that the man was a menace. A deep scar ran from his forehead, jumping over his eye and continuing down to his chin. Malik could only guess at how he had received that particular trophy. The maniacal grin did little to brighten his gruesome features.

Malik felt a chill run down his spine as he stared up at the hulking man, unconsciously drawing his sword and putting its length between them. “Rashad Hakim,” he addressed the man, voice steady and dark. This was their fourth target.

The grin broadened to show chipped teeth. Intimidation, it seemed, would not prove to be effective against this man. Rashad drew his own blade, a double-handed sword that he wielded with only one. Malik dared not show a sign of weakness, refusing to back down from the threat. He tried to read the man’s next movements, but Rashad simply stood there, solid as a boulder.

It was then that Malik took his first move. He lunged forward, but immediately feigned to the side. The man did not move at the first feint, however. His defense was flawless, his sword meeting Malik’s easily. The assassin danced around his opponent, blocking out the commotion of the people around him. He flew a few more blows at the man, each one caught by steel and not armor or flesh. The man was not only strong, he was quick. It was a dangerous combination.

In a desperate attempt to break through his defense, Malik struck high, meaning to bring his blade down upon the man’s un-helmed skull. This too was thwarted. Fear caught in his throat as massive hands closed around his forearms. He was shaken as one would a heavy rug, jarring his senses, though he still gripped his sword hilt, all of his training screaming at him to not lose his weapon. To lose one’s weapon was to lose one’s life. Malik bit back a cry as the hand twisted his arm. To keep the man from breaking it, Malik was forced to release his sword. He heard it clatter to the dusty street, feeling his hope of survival fall with it. Malik locked eyes with the hulking captain. He was staring death in the face, by a man stinking of corruption and lies.

He did not fear death - no Assassin did. He did not think of his own demise, only of Kadar and how his brother would have to carry on without him. The boy was naïve, but strong. He would live on; carry their family name to the next generation.

His attention was brought back to the man posing the dire threat by the man holding him captive.

“You should have taken me out first, Assassin,” Rashad Hakim growled, his grin never leaving that twisted mouth. Malik struggled, first trying to pull away, then trying to use the man’s weight against him. It was a futile effort, the man’s strength easily overpowering him and stilling his actions. He activated his hidden blade, but it was useless with his arm caught and immobilized by the hulking man.

A hand left his right arm, immediately seeking his neck and squeezing. Malik fought, strength renewed as the new threat posed itself, but the grip around his throat only tightened. The man simply held him there, one hand still holding his hidden blade arm and the other on his neck. Malik choked for breath, grasping and kicking harshly at the man as he was lifted into the air, the blows glancing off as if they never were. Malik’s vision began to blur as the hand clenched deeper into his skin, collapsing his airway. His head was filled with an unbearable pressure, but he could not cry out. He was forced into silence by that death grip. His life was in the hands of a Templar agent, and he was not letting it go.

Of all the ways to die, this one was pathetic. He could only blame himself for allowing his companion to go off on his own without knowing more about their target. He could only blame himself for underestimating the man and getting caught.

Malik continued his hopeless struggle, losing strength by the second. His kicks had stilled, his franticly clawing hand at the grip on his throat falling limply to his side. His sight began to blacken, and he labored to keep his focus. He felt the man flinch, making the assassin force his slipping attention forward, seeing a thin, sharp blade protruding from the man’s thick neck, just below the Adam’s apple and right beside a throbbing vein. The man did not stagger, but constricted Malik’s neck harder. The blade was passed through his neck twice more before the grip was loosed and the assassin crumpled to the dusty ground in a dead faint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap, Malik! I'm (not so) sorry for torturing him. I do it with the utmost love. I also realize that I'm making Altaїr a complete ass. But I also do that out of love. Tell me what you think, my dear readers!
> 
> Next time on Silent Discourse: Recovery in Rage!


	8. Recovery in Rage

Malik woke with a jarring start, his lungs screaming for air. He pulled in a breath that felt like the very fires of Hell were passing through his airways. He tore at his throat, still feeling the deathly grip there, crushing him. His hand was caught and pulled away to stop him from scratching at his already damaged skin and he lacked the strength to fight back.

It was only then that he heard a voice, though rough and uncertain, was trying to sooth him into rest. He pulled in another breath past his damaged airway, wincing as he did, and his eyesight cleared. Bright, concerned amber eyes stared down at him, upside down as he looked up. Never before had he felt so relieved to be meeting the gaze of his rival looking down upon him.

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat constricted as he tried to make a sound and he choked, weak and ragged coughs wracking his body.

The voice of the man was soft, carrying with it more sympathy than Malik had ever thought it could convey. “Safety and peace, brother.”

Malik realized his head was cradled in the man’s lap, and they were surrounded by the darkened walls of an alleyway, cloaked in the shadow of tall buildings. Evening was beginning to fall on the city, bringing with it the chill of the night. Much time had passed since he had lost consciousness. Malik shivered, though not from cold. His body was in shock, he knew, so he struggled to pull in a deep breath to calm himself.

“Rashad Hakim lies dead where he fell,” Altaїr continued in his soft tone. “I have the proof of his demise.” The man dared to brag about his kill while Malik lay choking on his own throat? It was the Assassin’s fault for splitting them up in their search.

Malik’s eyes burned with tears of fury, though he refused to allow them to fall. Instead, he reached up and took a fistful of Altaїr’s cowl at his neck, his grip shaking and weak. His accusing gaze was acknowledged solemnly.

Altaїr nodded above him, not moving to remove the grip on his clothing. “I should have found you sooner, I know. I was elsewhere, following a false trail. That man was very keen to keep us apart.”

Malik let out a ragged sigh, frustrated that he could not use his voice to throw incendiary accusations at the man. Instead, he let his grip fall away, his attention slipping.

“We need to get back to the bureau. Can you stand?” The question brought Malik back to awareness after his brief lull.

Malik threw him a sharp glare, seeming to say of _course_ he could stand, idiot. To clarify, he nodded. Strong, steady hands were at his shoulders then, pushing him into a sitting position. The rush to his head cracked a blinding ache through his skull. He ignored this, pulling his feet under him and standing on unsteady legs. A wave of vertigo caught him unaware, his vision darkening. In the next moment, he found himself in the supporting arms of his companion.

Irritated, he tried to push the man away, but his feeble attempts were in vain. His arm was caught and slung over the other man’s shoulders, a supporting hand at his waist. Altaїr all but carried him out of the dark alleyway, Malik’s legs next to useless. He would have felt humiliated if he could keep his thoughts in one coherent train. As it was, it was all he could do to move one leg in front of the other, and even then his feet dragged uselessly. He continued focusing on pulling in steady breaths that burned his throat.

He lost track of time and was only brought to full awareness when Altaїr reached out and knocked heavily on a concealed door.

“Rafiq!” The man called through t door, the volume jarring.

There were footsteps behind the door and it opened a crack, lamplight streaming into the dark street. The Rafiq’s voice was harsh and accusing, “Altaїr, you should know better than to-”

Altaїr cut the man off, quick to explain. “I could not get Malik up to the rooftop entrance. My apologies, Rafiq.”

“Malik?” the name was said with such deep concern that at first the injured man thought it was not the same bureau leader. Light flooded Malik’s blurry vision as the door opened and he squinted away from it as it shot yet another spear of pain through his head. Altaїr carried his comrade through the open door. “What has happened?” The Rafiq questioned as he closed and bolted the door behind the Assassins.

“We split up to seek out information. Our target was more cunning than we anticipated and he further separated us by sending me on a false trail. He strangled Malik almost to his death. I found them just in time and put an end to him.” The Rafiq lead them through his living quarters and into the bureau office. Altaїr set Malik down gently in the corner amongst the cushions beside a shelf heavily laden with pottery. Too weak to support himself, Malik slumped back, only able to sit up by pressing his back to the wall.

The Rafiq nodded. “Give me the details of today’s kills later. Malik,” he crouched beside the man, who stared at him with dazed eyes, “are you dizzy? How is your head?”

Malik let a scowl form on his face, his head lolling to one side as it rested against the cool wall. Its chill eased some of the splitting pain in his head, but it did nothing for his bitter mood. He knew he could not use his voice. Breathing was still an agony, and speaking was unfathomable.

“He cannot speak,” Altaїr explained. Malik’s glaring eyes followed him as he straightened and stood over the two men.

The Rafiq was understanding. “One question at a time, then. Malik, does your head hurt?”

Malik let out a raspy sigh of frustration that dissolved into a fit of ragged coughs. A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he quickly shrugged it off, not caring whose hand it was. As he gained control of himself, he glared up at the Rafiq, whose concern was plain. Altaїr crossed his arms, expression blank. Malik conceded to the question, nodding his head slowly, wincing as the movement stretched the damaged skin on his neck. Numbness had set in, but he knew that his skin was in bad shape from his frantic scrabble to get released by the hulking man.

“How bad is the ache?” Malik raised seven fingers in response. The Rafiq nodded and stood, retreating to his quarters. There was some shuffling issuing from the closed curtain. The two assassins regarded one another silently, one with a closed expression, the other with vehemence. The Rafiq entered after a few long moments, carrying a steaming cup.

He crouched beside Malik once again and offered the man the vessel. Malik reached a quivering hand towards it, angry at himself for appearing so weak. He took it and luckily managed to not spill it.

“Drink it all before it cools,” the Rafiq instructed. Malik sipped at the brewed tea, unflinching as it seared his tongue, the bitterness of it revealing its medicinal properties. He drank more, the herbal concoction numbing his throat, opening up his chest. He hoped it would also stave off the stabbing ache behind his eyes.

After an extensive examination of his neck the Rafiq determined that bones had not been broken. He wrapped a bandage around Malik’s neck, soaked in ointment to help soothe the raw skin. After all of this, he stood, turning to Altaїr. “Stay up with him. He is bound to have a difficult night. If he has additional breathing problems, come get me at once.” After a quick meal of soup, just broth for Malik, the bureau leader bid them goodnight. The need for sleep hit Malik hard and heavy, the medicinal tea working its magic. He was able to lower himself onto the cushions spread about the floor where he sat, under the careful eye of his companion. He was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

It was not as fitful of a night as the Rafiq had anticipated. Malik did, however, wake in the early hours of the morning, far before the time in which he normally woke. The lamp beside him burned low, presumably for Altaїr who was supposedly awake and watching over him. When he looked to his side however, the man’s chin was against his chest where he sat against the wall, caught in a deep sleep. This brought an amused grin to Malik’s cheeks. So much for staying vigilant at his bedside.

Malik gingerly touched his neck through the bandage, glad that the stab of pain was superficial. If the strangling hold had damaged the internal structures, he would be in a far more perilous position. The self-inflicted abrasions would heal completely with time and proper care.

He tested his boundaries, turning to his sleeping companion and croaking out a question, voice rasping painfully, “Sleeping on the job?”

Altaїr shook awake, grunting. It took him a moment to register the words, sleepily looking at the injured man lying beside him. “And here I was hoping that you had lost your voice for good.”

Malik wheezed out a chuckle. “No such luck.”

Finally playing his part, albeit reluctantly, the other man asked, “How is your head?”

“Better,” Malik replied honestly. He watched as Altaїr stretched, his neck obviously stiff from his sleeping position. “You do not need to stay up for me. I will survive the night.” Malik was that merciful, at least.

Altaїr yawned and sunk down to lie on the cushions, appearing to fall immediately back asleep. Malik contemplated thanking the man for saving his life, but his pride got the best of him and he remained silent, losing himself in his own thoughts until he too fell back to sleep.

\---

“I am perfectly able to ride, Rafiq.” Malik had grown beyond impatient at the man scrutinizing him, checking his bruised and scabbing neck for the second time that day.

The Rafiq had refused to let the two assassins leave Damascus for three days, insisting that Malik needed the rest. There was also the fact that both of the Assassins were now notorious amongst the Saracen guards, and the rumors of them needed time to die down. The Rafiq’s informants would come into the bureau on a regular basis with updates on the stirrings in the city. It appeared that even mentioning the word ‘Assassin’ brought fear upon the guards. As was common with these things, it was only a matter of time before the rumors stopped. That was promising. Their mission had at least been successful, if not messy.

By the third day, both Malik and Altaїr were restless to leave the city. The Rafiq had refused to let them even venture from the bureau, and tensions had risen between the three in those forced close quarters. Altaїr and Malik’s arguments had become a frequent occurrence, often almost coming to blows until the Rafiq intervened with a harsh word.

Malik’s injuries had healed enough that he had resumed his daily exercise regimen, minus climbing and running as he could not do so in the cramped space. The Rafiq had refused to let the two assassins stretch their sword arms in the confines of the bureau, which was probably for the best as both men were increasingly irritable.

The Rafiq regarded him, his gaze stony, but Malik could see his resolve crumbling. “So be it. You may depart for Masyaf tomorrow morning.” Hiding his triumphant smirk, Malik headed out to the patio where Altaїr lay amongst the cushions, brow drawn together in deep thought as he stared at the clouds drifting by beyond the grating.

“We have been given leave to return to Masyaf tomorrow morning,” he announced, far too proud of himself in that moment.

“I heard,” Altaїr answered shortly, not bothering to look at his companion.

“Are you not glad?”

“Glad that we were trapped here for an extra three days because you got yourself caught?” Altaїr scoffed. “No, I am not _glad_.”

The touch of fury was never very far from Malik when he spoke to the man, and the triggers had only gotten easier to trip as time wore on. “You were the one who insisted that we split up, Altaїr,” Malik growled. Once he had gotten his voice back, he had used every conversation to rain guilt upon his companion. It was deflected easily by the man, which only made Malik’s need to continue berating the man stronger.

“Maybe if you were not so blind and deaf to your surroundings you would not slow my investigations down.” Those amber eyes were fixed upon him now, burning with a silent but deadly fury.

“I would be able to gain information just as fast if I ignored all that the Creed has taught us and botch the mission, just as you do.” Altaїr was on his feet, glaring down his nose at Malik as he finished. Both tensed, clenching their fists, the storm of fervor raging between them.

“ _Enough_.” The Rafiq cut through the tension, voice raised and stern. “You are grown men squabbling like children. Do I need to get a wooden stick and discipline you like novices?”

Malik tossed his arms up in frustration, shoving past the bureau leader and into the office. He sat heavily on the cushions beside the chess board, setting the pieces out with hands shaking with anger. There he knew he would not be bothered. Altaїr was not one for strategy games, and the Rafiq knew better than to interrupt him.

That day dragged on agonizingly slow, a silent tension pulling between the three inhabitants. They ate in silence, the only time that they were in close proximity. The only relief they had was when the Rafiq’s informants dropped into the bureau. Even they sensed the discord between the three men, setting them on edge as they spoke to the Rafiq.

Evening fell upon Damascus none too soon. After a tense dinner, Malik reluctantly stole outside to the patio, sitting on the cushions beside his silent companion, who wholly ignored his presence, continuing with his task of packing his travel bags.

Malik retrieved his hidden blade from his pile of weapons and proceeded to oil the mechanism. Slowly, the scraping was silenced and it again became a weapon of pure concealed stealth. The grate of a whetstone filled the silence between the two assassins as he continued on to sharpen it.

The two remained in silence until sleep crept over them, not coming soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, Altair isn't a complete ass in this chapter! Also, I had to do so much research on strangulation for this chapter. I decided to be (somewhat) merciful and not have Malik break his hyoid bone.   
> On a side note, I graduate from college next week! Whoop!  
> See you next week for the next exciting installment of Silent Discourse in Chapter 9: Confusion in Copulation! (Gee, I wonder what is going to happen there?)


	9. Copulation in Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are here from FF.net, welcome! Read on, my darlings!

If the first day of their travel back to Masyaf was torture, the second day the two Assassins stepped into their own personal Hell. When they rode, they stayed as far apart from each other as possible without getting out of one another’s sight. When they stopped at wells or fountains, their animosity doubled, building into a silent raging fire. Before their whole journey began, Malik dreaded seeing the other Assassin. Now his visage lit something deep in his chest that he could not quite describe. It felt like it was somewhere between contempt and vehemence.

From the way Altaїr’s amber eyes smoldered whenever he dared glanced over at his companion, he felt the same. When they had watered their horses, they set off again, neither bothering to wait or catch up to the other. Evening was quickly approaching. On this jaunt, Altaїr had taken the lead. Malik watched ahead of him as the man pulled his stallion off of the road, disappearing into a crevice carved into the side of the valley by harsh rains from centuries past. Malik followed him, past the entrance which was hidden by a twisted olive tree. He pulled his mare up beside Altaїr’s horse and tied her to the same root protruding from the sheer crevice wall.

Altaїr shifted his head towards him from his seat upon the hard, dusty earth as he approached. The man let out a sharp sigh, making Malik’s scowl deepen. “Must you make camp here?” Altaїr was clearly at the end of his rope. Malik had come to the end of his long ago and had reached the point beyond caring.

Malik decided to make things worse, simply out of spite and his own animosity towards the other man. “We set out on this mission together. We have to look out for one another.”

The other man scoffed, “Perhaps _you_ need looking after.”

Ignoring the comment, Malik brought up more pressing issues. “Are you going to help gather wood for the fire?” He could almost hear the man grinding his teeth in agitation before he stood reluctantly, motioning sharply for Malik to move on. When he refused, Altaїr shoved past him, each step looking like it took all of his restraint to keep himself from attacking his companion. Malik’s scowl was lost on the man as he recovered from getting pushed to the side with a single broad arm sweep.

None too soon, the two Assassins had successfully set up a small, crackling fire in their nook in the canyon wall. They were back on travel rations, rather unsatisfying after the Rafiq’s home cooked meals. They ate in a stiff silence, the flame crackling between them, staving off the chill of the cloudless night. The rains would begin soon, Malik knew. He was grateful at least that they had held off for the duration of their journey. It was always a misery to be sent on a mission in the middle of winter in the rain, speckled intermittently with snow.

Malik took a deep breath, calming his hatred-heavy heart before he spoke to his companion. “We will reach Masyaf tomorrow. We should plan on what to say to Al Mualim.”

“We will say what I always say,” Altaїr replied flippantly. “That the mission was a success. Nothing more needs to be said.”

Malik stared at the hooded man sitting off to his right, the orange glow of the fire casting severe shadows over his already serious face. “That is a convenient way of glossing over the truth.”

Amber eyes reflected the inferno of the challenge presented by the man. “What truth?”

“That you acted rashly, disregarding all teaching of subtlety that the Brotherhood values above strength.” Malik’s words bit through the tense air.

Altaїr sighed sharply. “Are you going to give me yet another lecture on the Creed?”

“Someone ought to,” Malik sneered in reply.

“Is this all that you were taught, to lecture your mission partners on all of their wrongs?” The man spat the words, turning to stare daggers at Malik, who steeled.

“These are the teachings that I grew up with. They are the words of my father, of our culture, of the Brotherhood.” The tension was rising, Malik’s restraint reaching its limit.

Altaїr’s next words drove him deeper into the perilous abyss of fervor. “You are not your father, you are not a Master Assassin, you are not a scholar.” His voice was sharp, accusing. It cut Malik deeper than he had anticipated. “You cannot simply walk in your father’s shoes and repeat all that he knew as if you were living on for him.”

Malik’s voice dropped, though it did not lose its edge. “I do not know much about how my father lived, I just know that he lived by the Creed, as did your father. If Umar was half the Assassin I have heard about, he would still have been a great man. If you had taken your teachings from him, perhaps you would not be so disrespectful of our ways.”

“My father was almost a stranger to me. My actions are my own.” His conviction was strong; Malik would give that to him. It would not distract him from the obvious faults that the man showed so openly and proudly.

“So there is no one to blame for your stupidity except yourself.”

Altaїr turned on him, eyes flashing dangerously with anger. “You should not speak to me like that.” And there it was; that expression that told Malik that he may not survive until the end of this conversation. He did not, however, back down from the threat. Instead he replied with a threat of his own.

 “I _will_ speak my mind.”

Altaїr scoffed harshly. “Your mind is obviously soured.”

“You are one to talk,” Malik growled back.

“At least I have the skill to back up my words.” Malik would have felt shame for his next actions if he had not been so blind with rage towards his rival. He would have regretted it, he would have stopped himself. As it was, lunging at the man and watching his expression as he slammed him into the hard ground was satisfying enough for him to forget all restraint in that moment.

Altaїr retaliated instantly, but Malik was ready for it. They struggled, each trying to best the other as they wrestled. Altaїr managed to catch Malik’s wrist, wrenching it up his back and pinning the man to the ground, using his other hand to press his face into the dust. Malik snarled and struggled, managing to roll out of the hold.

They rolled around in a flurry of limbs and fists, their fury getting the best of their judgment and training. Malik managed to grab back of Altaїr’s hood, pulling it off. They choked on the dust that they kicked up in their skirmish. The horses nickered nervously, shying away from the wrestling men.

The pair exhausted themselves, but they still battled on. Malik soon found himself with his back pressed to the earth, an arm pinned above his head to still his flying fist that had managed to land a few satisfying blows. His other hand had a fistful of Altaїr’s sleeve, but fatigue prevented him from pulling the man off of him. They glared into each other’s eyes, panting slowly from their prolonged exertion.

He did not know which one moved forward first. All Malik knew was that one second they were in the throes of battle, and the next their lips were entwined, biting and desperate. Instead of pushing away, Malik was now pulling him closer, crushing his lips against the others’. Altaїr let out a growl from deep in his throat that for once appeared to not be out of anger. It was _hunger_. Malik pulled in a gasp as he felt hips grind up against his, a desperate needy motion.

Malik would have teased the man about his forwardness, his hastiness. As it was, if he were in his companion’s position he would have done exactly the same.

A lust bloomed that he had never anticipated, especially not towards _this_ man. His mind was screaming against him, but his body cried for more.

After an immense internal battle, his mind won. He reluctantly pressed the man away, though their faces were close enough to feel each other’s heavy breaths. “This- this is sodomy! The law-”

Altaїr cut him off quickly, breathing the words, lust hanging heavy between the two Assassins, replacing the fierce animosity of just moments before. “Our law is the Creed and it says nothing of sodomy.”

Malik narrowed his gaze, his desire just as strong as his annoyance. “So _now_ you are following the Creed?”

The sly grin that flashed on his partner’s scarred lips now evoked not only resentment, but a certain craving. “ _Everything_ is permitted.” Those devious lips dove down to tease the skin behind his ear.

Malik subconsciously turned his head to allow the man easier access. “This is so wrong…” His conviction was quickly crumbling as the man began to undulate his body ever so evocatively over his own. Malik received the motion with relish, pressing his lower back away from the hard ground to meet the other’s body.

“Do you want me to stop?” There was the arrogance, the annoyance that Malik was waiting for.

Malik growled, not wanting to give in to the man but also overcome with lust towards him. “No.” He clutched the man tighter, easing his palms over the man’s working muscles through the rough spun robes as he continued to grind up against him.

Altaїr breathed heavily above him, releasing the hold on Malik’s arm, a searching hand wandering down to the other man’s loins. Malik gasped as the hand brushes against his arousal. He could feel the man’s smirk against the soft skin behind his ear and he hated and loved that Altaїr could conjure that reaction from him. Deft fingers unlaced his pants and unabashedly dove under the cloth to grasp his stiffening sex. Somehow, Malik was not surprised at the man’s forwardness. Malik grunted and bit his lip, his body arcing up towards the touch unconsciously. A moan came unbidden to his lips as the hand so trained in the art of death began stroking him ever so tenderly. Soon, he was panting in time to the strokes, the man growling lustily above him.

It was not the first time that someone had taken hold of his stiff cock, but it certainly was the first time it had been done by a man. In this instant, that detail mattered little.

It was a long moment before the hand left his arousal. Malik was about to voice a protest when his wrist was caught in a needy grip, the man pulling his arm between them. Before he knew it, he was palming the other man’s cock and Altaїr was releasing a desirous, grunting moan. It was warm against his skin as he gripped its girth. There was a moment of uncertainty as to what to do, but instinct took over and he set to work determinedly. He stroked up and down, the man breathing heavily over him, encouraging the motions.

Their eyes still had not made contact since after their kiss and Malik was perfectly content to maintain that. The hand was back on his own arousal, beating in time with his own strokes. They played back and forth, one would speed up the pace, and the other would match it. Even in this act of intimacy they were rivals, each one pushing the other and in turn rising to the challenge.

The night was silent around them, and their frantic breathing was the only noise they allowed themselves to make after the initial noises of want and arousal. It was harsh and hasty, the way they brought each other to their climax. Malik tossed his head back as he got close, Altaїr burying his teeth in his shoulder through the fabric of his cowl, careful to avoid the healing skin on his neck. They each gave muffled grunts as they spilled themselves, the frantic movements slowing and finally stilling. By then, Altaїr was collapsed on top of Malik, both of them catching their breath. In that moment, all Malik wanted to do was to feel the weight of his rival on him, to feel the heat that had built up between them and relish in the fact that just this once, they were on top of one another not in hatred. Lust was no less a sin, but at least Malik would have fewer bruises in the morning.

Malik’s mind slowly caught up to him and he was all at once horrified at his own actions, terrified of what the consequences could be. He had never been a religious man himself, but the ideas were nonetheless prevalent around him. It was only natural for him to internalize the negative ideas towards these devious acts.

He shoved Altaїr off wordlessly, not meeting his gaze. The man allowed the action, barely catching himself as he landed on the hard ground. Altaїr opened his mouth to speak, but the words fell from existence as Malik lay on his sleeping mat, back turned to his companion and the world. His thoughts would keep him awake for a while yet, but he refused to acknowledge the man whom he had just been so intimate with.

His body’s satisfaction was plagued by guilt, by uncertainty. He fell into sleep with questions running rampant through his mind, but one held a most prevalent place.

What did it _mean_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, am I right?! A note on sexuality during the 11th and 12th centuries: there was no concept of homosexuality yet and sodomy was a crime punishable by death. Also, both Altair and Malik eventually have children (canonically) so they are at least in part bisexual. On a side note, just to clarify, neither of them were virgins. They kill people for a living and they are already 22, so of course they have had lovers in the past.  
> Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Home in Havoc!  
> (Another side note: I'm graduating with my BA in Psychology tomorrow! Woo hoo!)


	10. Home in Havoc

Malik woke with no answers to his questions. He stirred and found his loins crusty with dried seed. If the night had calmed his disquiet any, it was instantly renewed. He dug in his travel bags and produced a new set of robes and pants. He spared a glance at his companion who slept on, undisturbed by the brightening of the sky. The world around them was gray, the horses just starting to stir. Malik replaced his soiled pants and robes, both from the sticky spunk and from the dust from the two Assassin’s row. His second set of robes was barely cleaner, still spattered with blood stains that had refused to wash out completely. They would have to do for the last leg of the journey and to see the Mentor.

It was not a long wait until Altaїr stirred and woke. The pair silently gathered their travel gear and loaded the horses, actions strictly routine. All that was missing was Malik’s nagging and Altaїr’s impudent responses. Malik refused to give the man a passing glance. He would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much the man was in his thoughts, plaguing and tormenting him. Malik refused to give him that power over him, refused to be seen as weak.

They set out at an easy pace, allowing the horses to warm their muscles after the chilly night. Malik set his mouth, keeping his eyes on the road before them, expression as stony and as uninviting as he could muster, his hood drawn further forward than usual. Altaїr appeared to take the rather unsubtle hint and remained silent, expression hidden to Malik behind his own hood. He had not changed his robes and the brown dust clung to the rough spun fabric. He looked like a man who had been traveling for weeks, not days. The stubble that clung to his cheeks after those days of travel only added to his haggard appearance. He may have been holding his head high, but Malik could see a distinct droop to his normally arrogant posture.

These thoughts may have brought a smirk to Malik’s face before their act of intimacy. Now all he felt was confusion.

They rode on in silence, eventually spurring their horses into a gallop, the gap that developed between them a blessing. It was only when Malik pulled ahead of Altaїr that he could let his mask fall, uncertainty plastered on his features. The pounding hooves below him masked the despairing groan that could no longer be contained.

He rode on, skirting past outposts, the terrain becoming more and more familiar. He stopped his horse at well known water wells, Altaїr always quick to catch up. Even as they stopped to dine on the last of their travel rations they did not speak, did not meet each other’s searching gaze. Lingering between the pair was the unmistakable air of desperation, of wanton and unsatisfied desire. Overshadowing this was an omnipotent questioning and uncertainty, driving the pair into a heated silence.

The gates of Masyaf did not appear soon enough, but when they were revealed as the pair rounded a corner, they were such a sweet sight. This was home. This was their family. They dismounted their exhausted horses at the stables, instructing a novice to deal with their travel bags.

Late afternoon was coming upon the town as the two Assassins stepped out from the shade of the horse stalls.

Malik glanced up at the tall, regal walls of the fortress standing tall and proud on the hill before them, glad to see it after his ordeal. There was a hand at his elbow, seeking to draw his attention and stop his forward motion. He steeled, not turning to face the man who had stopped him.

“Malik,” Altaїr began, but was sharply cut off, the other man wrenching his arm free, perhaps a bit too aggressively.

“We will speak to Al Mualim,” he said briskly, leaving no room for comment before he set off again, forcing Altaїr to follow.

They found the Grand Master pacing behind his desk in his library study. He turned as the two approached, bowing their heads in respectful greeting.

He opened his arms, an odd smile passing over his wrinkled features. It was an odd look, but Malik knew he was reading too much into it. “Welcome. I have been informed that your mission was a success, but there is only so much one can write and send by word of wing.” He motioned for the two Assassins to begin their tale.

Malik jumped at the opportunity. “It is true that the four captains are dead, but they were not true Templars themselves. They only worked for them. The man behind the rumors is the Templar influence.”

Al Mualim nodded. “Ah, yes. Hameed Ali. The letter told me as such. I have not heard his name before, but I am certain that he has not given up his plight. Malik and Altaїr, you have done well to retrieve this information. Now tell me what lies they have been spreading.”

“They told that the Brotherhood has joined with the Christian King in his quest to retrieve the Holy Land from Saladin,” Malik continued. This should have given him a swell of pride, to tell the Mentor the information that he had gleaned while his partner stood silent. It should have, but the activities of the previous night hung heavy over him. He could not think of besting the man without remembering the feel, the girth of his sex in his hand, of the hot breaths that spilled over his neck, or the desperate way Altaїr had moved his body against his own, and of how he received it with relish.

The Mentor nodded, stroking his white beard with a hand. “Troubling. However, what is most troubling me is the reason why you had to stay for three extra days.” Instantly, Malik felt like he was a child being scolded. He was grateful that his cowl covered his healing neck. “What was the reason for this delay?”

“Our actions alerted the city guards,” Altaїr stepped in when Malik did not speak. “We were known to them. The best course of action was to wait for the rumors to quiet.”

Malik stole him a glance, allowing himself at least that. Was he not going to mention his injury? Perhaps the man could muster up an ounce of mercy when needed. Or perhaps the man was paying him the courtesy in exchange for not disclosing their intimate act. It had been a fleeting thought to turn in Altaїr, but the idea had been quickly thrown to the wind.

Al Mualim raised an eyebrow at Altaїr’s half truth, but did not press for further information. The two Assassins were dismissed, Malik quickly turning away and stalking out of the library. He needed to be away from the other man, to give himself time to think.

He quickly descended the high hill and walked the streets below, making his way directly to his and his brother’s abode. He lowered his hood and entered, letting out a decompressing sigh as the familiar sights and smells flooded to him.

Kadar stood from where he sat on the cushions beside the game board, and he was instantly before his brother, pulling him into a fierce hug.

“Welcome home, Malik,” he almost chimed, his brilliant grin even making the corners of the other man’s lips quirk upward.

“Good to be home, Kadar.” Malik returned the embrace. The two brothers pulled away, Kadar’s gaze falling instantly to the bruising and scabs around Malik’s neck. His brow furrowed as he scrutinized his brother.

“You were gone longer than expected. I was told just today that you were returning. What happened to you?” Unlike the Rafiq, this was said in concern rather than scorn.

Malik sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. “Stupidity, mostly. Not on my part.”

Kadar gave him a knowing look, but the way in which he said the name still carried with it a hint of admiration. “Altaїr?”

That earned him a groan. If he never heard that man’s damned name again it would be too soon. “Do not speak of him. I have had to deal with too much of that man for far too long. I got caught by one of our targets, nothing more."

Knowing to not press the issue, Kadar nodded and switched the topic. “You must be tired.”

“It will be nice to sleep in my own bed.” Malik sat heavily on the cushions, unbuckling his boots and pulling them off with relish.

Kadar sat beside him, still looking at his brother’s neck with concern. He did not voice his worry, but moved on to lighter topics. “I have told Fatima next door that you would be returning today and she made a meal for us. It is cold by now, but that is an easy matter to fix.”

With both boots removed, Malik continued on to unbuckle his rank belt and weapons, setting them aside with care. “Thank you, Kadar. I promise I will be a more active participant in household duties.”

His brother gave a light scoff. “You are a high rank Assassin . That duty comes before cooking meals.”

Malik was taken aback by his brother’s air of arrogance. It was far too familiar. “No, Kadar.” The young man was startled by the insistent tone. Malik continued. “You must always keep a sense of humility. That is why we have the rank system, so we know and understand what it means to be one of the people. It grounds us, keeps us from trying to reach too lofty goals.” If he could not get through to his rival, he at least could try to instruct his younger brother to stay away from his teachings. Kadar had only seen fourteen years and he was still too susceptible to the ideas that Altaїr abided by. His admiration for the Assassin did not help matters any.

Kadar allowed a scowl to pass his features. “Humility and humanity? We are Assassins. We are above these things.”

Anger welled in his chest. He knew that he was still strung up about his companion on his journey and that he was taking out his frustrations on his brother, but in that moment he could not contain himself. “ _No_ ,” he began sharply. “You have been listening to Altaїr’s poisonous teachings for far too long. We are mere servants of the people, working from the shadows to obtain peace.”

“But we have the _skill-_ ”

His impudence irritated Malik to the point where he raised his voice. “ _That is not all we have, Kadar_. Knowledge, cunning, and discretion are also needed in what we do.”

Kadar scowled in return. “Alright, I understand.”

Malik was skeptical. “Do you?”

His brother shot him his own annoyed glare, his scathing comment hitting Malik like a blow. “Maybe not now, but you certainly will see to it that I do.”

Malik opened his mouth to give an angry reply, but was interrupted by an even knock on the door. Flustered, he shot a warning look at Kadar as he stood. He stalked to the door, trying his best to clear his head, not wanting to put off the visitor. Somehow, he knew that he should not have been surprised to see who stood beyond the door. As his eyes fell upon the man before him, all thoughts of calm fled his mind. Lamp light flooded his unreadable expression, scarred lips taut.

It was really the first time Malik had seen Altaїr looking so meek.

His words only reinforced that image. “ Malik, I-”

Malik did not give the man time to explain himself. Altaїr had the gall to approach his door when his brother was present to talk about what had transpired between them? His tone was harsh, cold. “No, I do not want to speak with you.”

Altaїr was quick to deny. “It’s not-”

Again, Malik cut him off sharply. “Leave me.”

The other Assassin had the tenacity to look almost hurt by his complete rejection. It almost gave him a moment’s hesitation. “Malik-”

“I said _leave_ ,” Malik growled. Without letting the man reply, he slammed the door between them. He stalked back to the cushions and sat heavily upon them, seething silently.

It was a long moment before Kadar posed a gentle question. “What has he done now?”

Malik was having none of it. He would be rid of this man, at least for the evening. “Not now, Kadar,” he growled, making sure to keep himself in check.

They spoke of lighter subjects as they reheated their meal and ate. Malik retired early, claiming tiredness. In fact, he stayed up late into the night tossing and turning, thoughts of his intimate rival roiling in his mind.

\---

The next morning Malik took his breakfast to his usual spot atop a high roof, overlooking the waking town below with the sun rising at his back. It was a strategic position, as the sun would avert the eyes of passerby. He was effectively concealed and could eat in peace. It was not uncommon for him to be pulled aside by an instructor to aid in a demonstration for the novices, and Malik would not abide by that this morning.

The last thing he wanted to do was draw a sword, practice or no. His neck and ribs were still sore enough to cause discomfort and he would not further injure himself if he could help it. In fact, he would much rather lecture the novices on how to not be idiots, but he was no scholar and such a job was up to them. Performing duties of a higher rank was a grave offence and Malik was not willing to be demoted when his rival was so far ahead of him.

As it was, when he had finished his breakfast, he headed determinedly to the library, quickly waving off the various greetings he received from his fellow Assassins. He was determined to spend the day in the quiet solitude of the library, surrounded only by books and silently working scholars.

He found an unoccupied table and set to work, opening up his notebook and reviewing the notes that he had jotted down on his journey. He took up the maps that he had been looking at before all those long days ago and poured over them once again, cross referencing them with his notes. By the time the noon bell rang, his annoyance at the discordance between them had reached a peak. After a quick break to eat, he retrieved a blank sheet of parchment and set to work, plotting landmarks and drawing the landscape upon it.

By the time he got the basic layout of the land between Masyaf and Damascus, the scholars were already lighting the evening lanterns. It was only then that he remembered that he promised Kadar that he would cook them dinner. He left the library earlier than he had originally planned, heading to the market before the vendors packed up for the night.

The two brothers did not return to their argument from the night before as they ate. Malik was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. He needed an evening away from confrontation. His good fortune proved to be persistent as he was not visited by his rival that evening.

The next day preceded much as the last. It took until the afternoon for Malik to finish drawing the map. It was not nearly as detailed as he wanted it and he did not trust the other maps’ accuracy to transcribe more information from those. He arrived at a conclusion and decided to take action, the thought of rising in the ranks of the Assassins only briefly flashing through his thoughts. His plan would certainly make the Mentor look at him as more than just a ninth rank Assassin, but that was not the reason why he was going out of his way. It was to improve the Brotherhood, to aid it in every way he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized yesterday as I was writing chapter 14 that I haven't even gotten to the first time jump yet. This fic is going to be a freaking monster. This was supposed to be a short fic. Oh well. I'm having way too much fun with it, and I hope you are too!
> 
> Next time on Silent Discourse: Malik spirals into a desperate scrabble for information! Stay tuned for next week's chapter: Abjection in Analysis!


	11. Abjection in Analysis

He ascended the staircase to Al Mualim’s study, finding the old man writing at his desk.

“Mentor,” he greeted and bowed his head in respect.

The man looked up from his writing, setting his quill aside and giving the Assassin his full attention. “Malik, what brings you here?”

“I have been studying the maps we have here of the Kingdom and of the cities and I have found that they are inconsistent and outdated.” The Mentor looked intrigued and Malik continued. “On my last mission I took notes on the positions of the guard outposts and since I have returned I placed them on a new map.” He produced the large scroll of parchment and offered it to the Mentor. He took it and unrolled it, his good eye scanning the delicate ink marks. “This is the best I could do with so little information but-”

“You drew this?” Al Mualim cut the Assassin off, looking over the map.

Malik nodded, continuing on with his idea. “It is not detailed enough yet to be used for specific missions, but if we gathered more current information we could expand upon it. If the road to Damascus has changed so much, I am sure the same can be said for Acre and Jerusalem.”

Al Mualim looked up from the map, his good eye glowing with pride for the young Assassin. “What do you propose?”

This gave Malik pause. He had expected the man to cordially thank him for his efforts and send him away or to send him on a mission to gather the information himself. He continued on with the plan that he had thought up, his chest swelling as he spoke, allowing himself to take pride in his plan. “We could send second and third rank Assassins to gather information. They would need to be instructed in how to write down the coordinates of landmarks and landscape.”

A smile of satisfaction crossed the old man’s bearded face as he looked upon the Assassin. “You have done well to find this need. We have not had a scholar who specialized in cartography in many years.”

Malik nodded, remembering the frail ghost of a man who had taught him how to read and draw maps during his studies. “Rajab was a respectable teacher.”

That single eye gaze fell upon him searchingly, sizing him up. “You are a gifted man in using your mind. I do wonder if you were able to teach Altaїr your ways of discretion while on your mission.”

Malik had to force himself to keep from grimacing at the sound of the man’s name. “I may not have succeeded in teaching him, but I was able to contain some of his non-discretion after a few trials. He does not make it easy.”

That brought a smile to Al Mualim’s bearded cheeks. “I have been his Mentor for eleven years and even I could not break him from that habit. Your perseverance should be praised. Tell me Malik, have you thought of putting your mind to better use, to become an instructor and then a scholar and pass on your wisdom to the students and tomes in this library?”

Malik had been waiting to be approached about this. It was true that he had skills outside those of action and infiltration, but he would not be fulfilled if he gave up on that after so long of honing his skills, trying to surpass his rival. He shook his head in answer. “I wish to be active in the field for as long as I am able.”

Al Mualim nodded, but Malik could see a flash of disappointment in his eye. “Your father decided upon the same when I offered it to him in his younger years.” He smiled fondly, falling into a melancholic silence. Malik retrieved his map from where it lay on the table and rolled it slowly. The Mentor in turn sat back at his desk with his quill. As the Assassin turned to leave, the old man caught his attention once again. “I will send word to the instructors to seek out low rank Assassins with a talent for mathematics and observation. I will send them to you to instruct.”

“It would be an honor,” Malik replied, bowing his head and taking his leave.

He sat at his claimed desk once again, eyes glossing over the maps there, his mind on everything but the charts. He could not be a scholar. He could never be an instructor. Carrying out assassination contracts was by far the noblest thing he could do. It was what Altaїr did. It was what his father did before becoming a Master Assassin. Agility, discretion, infiltration, death; these were what Malik strove to perfect. He would attain the title and he was determined to do so before his damned rival.

His rival. His _intimate_ rival. Malik could not ignore the shiver that ran down his spine all the way to his toes as he thought of the man. Thus far, he had been able to preoccupy his mind with his work. Now that there was a lull, the thoughts flooded back.

Uncertainty, anxiousness, and a hint of fear hit him like a blow to the chest. The disgust he had felt before had all but dissipated as he thought back on the event as he lay awake at night. Sure, he had been told that it was unnatural, but it certainly had not felt so. It had been rushed, it had been harsh, but nothing ever felt truly _wrong_. He had called it wrong, but his words did not reflect his thoughts.

Curiosity overwhelmed Malik as he sat surrounded by tomes of knowledge. Surely one of the books or scrolls had something written about the laws of sodomy within the Brotherhood. He stood and searched the vast shelves for tomes describing the intricacies of the Creed, of the laws of the land laid down by long dead men.

By evening fall his laboring had produced no fruit. Struck down but not defeated, he returned the next morning and began again. The volumes he found held information closer to what he was seeking, but none truly answered his question.

He lived all of his life by the Creed. It was only right to make sure that all of his actions stayed true to that conviction.

His searching was interrupted, however, when he sensed a presence behind him. He turned and found a robed instructor and two youths no older than thirteen standing just behind him. They were almost of an age with Kadar, but judging by their dress they were of a lower rank.

Malik glanced over the pair. “Are these who I will be instructing in the basics of cartography?”

The instructor nodded. “This is Tariq and Naji. They have both shown considerable talent in the skills required for such a job that you requested. They will study under you until you determine their knowledge sufficient enough to send them out.”

Malik nodded and the instructor excused himself, leaving the two youths and the Assassin to themselves. Malik pulled a deep breath and stood, closing the book he had open. His own personal studies would have to wait. “Tariq and Naji, I assume you were told why you were sent to me. To be clear, I will be instructing you on how to properly take notes on the locations of landmarks and terrain.” The two youths nodded. Malik could sense that they were intimidated by his severe way he held himself, as they remained still and silent. “Do you have any questions before we begin?”

The taller of the two stepped forward. “Master Malik, I-”

“I am not a Master,” Malik cut him off, though not as sharply as he could. The two were intimidated enough as it was. Perhaps it was the yellowing bruising around his neck or the healing scabs. “Sorry, which one are you?”

“Tariq, Mas- Malik,” he quickly corrected himself. “I was going to ask how long you will be instructing us.”

Malik nodded at the correction. “The calculations are simple enough, but you will need to practice them to ensure their accuracy. Have either of you been taught how to properly read a map?” The pair nodded and Malik held in a sigh of relief. At least he did not have to go back to the very basics. “Very well. Let us begin.”

He started the two young Assassins off by having them read the basic theory of cartography in a tome. As they were reading, Malik continued his own studying. As the afternoon came, the two youths dismissed themselves to attend their other studies. At this point, Malik threw himself wholly into his own research, the thought of Altaїr hanging heavy in his thoughts.

As the days wore on, the desperate need to come to a conclusion about the man reached a feverous peak. Before he knew it, a week had passed since he began instructing the young Assassins in the art of charting and plotting points on a map. Teaching them was taking valuable time away from his own personal studies and as each day passed, his desire grew.

He was unsure if it was the man he wanted or just the act of intimacy itself. He had barely brushed the surface of those deep waters and all he knew was that he wished to dive into those depths, drowning in whatever he found there.

A week was not a long time to work with apprentices, but the two young Assassins had learned fast and had grown a respect for their mentor. In turn, Malik had developed a fondness for his pupils. He was expecting them to be as resilient and strong headed as Altaїr, but the opposite proved to be true. They were receptive to his critiques and followed his instructions with care.

It was not long before they went out into the town of Masyaf and practiced the skills that they had been developing. Up until then, Malik had been actively avoiding venturing into the village during the day, knowing that was where his rival often wandered. To aid his students in their learning, he would have to break out of that habit and face the possibility of seeing the man who had been haunting his every waking thought.

He stationed his students at a vantage point just at the base of the pathway up to the fortress and set them to work marking positions of various landmarks. Malik scanned the passerby, allowing his mind to wander. It inevitably came to thoughts of his rival.

As if on cue, a white robed man appeared to dissolve out of the crowd of townsfolk just down the road. Malik’s breath caught in his chest upon seeing his rival, his hood pulled over his head as usual, hitching travel packs over his shoulder. As if sensing Malik’s burning gaze, he turned and their eyes met. Altaїr’s expression was unreadable as Malik looked on, the world around him darkening until all he saw was the man. He felt his legs take a daring step forward without his leave. He was unsure what he would do if he ever reached the man.

Thankfully, he would never find out.

“Malik, can you check this calculation?” The moment was lost as Malik turned to his student beside him, broken out of his reverie. He looked at Naji’s scratchy work and nodded, turning back to seek out Altaїr once again.

The man was gone, dissolved into the crowd. Malik let out the breath that he did not know he had been holding. His chest ached with the strain, with emotions that he refused to put a name to.

Altaїr had been departing on a mission, that much was clear. Malik would not have to fear running into him in the days to come, but now that he had set eyes on the man, he was not sure he wanted to avoid him further.

It took all of his restraint to keep himself from abandoning his students and either retreating to the depths of the library to continue his research, or to find the nearest horse and take off after the other Assassin. Instead he planted his feet firmly in the compacted dirt, looking over the shoulder of his pupils at their work.

The days dragged on, Malik’s disquiet becoming more and more unbearable. On the sixth day after Altaїr’s departure, he finally gave in. Not halfway into his teachings of the day he dismissed the young Assassins, who gladly went about their own business. He stole into the library, looking through the ancient tomes with a renewed fervor.

His table was covered with books, half-read and spread open. He was skimming the text of another when a soft voice behind him shocked him back into reality.

“It is not punishable within the walls of Masyaf, Malik, though it is not highly looked upon.”

Malik lurched around, slamming the book shut as he did so. A vaguely familiar face under a white hood grinned gently down at him. It had only been a matter of time before one of the scholars noticed just what he was researching. Malik was almost too quick in his response. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

The scholar’s grin dropped and he stared down at the man, now far too serious for Malik’s liking. “Outside of the Brotherhood, it is punishable by death. But as you say, I do not know what you are talking about.”

Malik narrowed his gaze as he returned the serious stare. “How do you know this? Where it is written?”

The scholar shook his head. “It is not written. It is known by those of us who need to know. Calm your searching, you will not find it.” With that, the scholar bowed away, disappearing around a tall bookshelf and leaving Malik to his own ponderings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I fail to mention that I quite enjoy tormenting my characters?
> 
> Hey so peeps, you should tell me what you think so far! Like, review and stuff. Yeah!


	12. Temerity in Touch

Two more days passed until he heard a word about the other Assassin. Malik was passing through town after dismissing his apprentices for the day when he happened by two guards exchanging information before taking the other’s place. He heard a certain man’s name pass by the lips of the guard being relieved and made a bee line towards the two.

They inclined their heads as he approached - a sign of respect for his higher rank. “You spoke of Altaїr just now?” He asked the first man, keeping his tone even, though his heart was hammering loud enough to almost muffle his ears.

The man nodded. “I saw him go up the hill to the fortress not an hour ago.”

Malik immediately turned in that direction, not waiting to bid farewell to the guards or to even thank the man for his assistance. He had one thought on his mind: seek out that damned man. What he would do when he found him was beyond his realm of thought. He just needed to set eyes on him. It had been far too long since he had stared into those amber eyes.

Suddenly, his chest constricted as another thought entered his mind. What if this was all just in his head? That one thought opened up the flood of questions. What if he would go back to hating the man once he saw his smug grin? What if Altaїr had lost all interest in him? What if that last night of their journey had been a one-time event?

Malik shook the thoughts away, coming back to himself. Altaїr was one to become fixated on a single thing. He was just cocky enough to continue his pursuit of Malik, he was sure. As he reached the library, he scanned the courtyard for the hooded man. There were many Assassins hard at work, sparring and tossing knives at straw men. The din of metal clashing and shouts of effort did nothing to distract Malik. In a forest of hooded men, he did not see the one he was so desperately looking for. He entered the library, climbing the steps to the Mentor’s study.

Perhaps the Assassin was still talking with Al Mualim? That question was soon answered when Malik looked to see the old man sitting alone at his desk, the only man in the vicinity a white robed scholar. Malik let out a frustrated sigh and quickly exited the library.

It was a mad search, he knew. Altaїr could be anywhere. It was not like Masyaf was particularly large, but there certainly were far too many places that the man could have disappeared to. Contrary to his own belief, Malik did not know exactly where all of Altaїr’s usual haunts were.

In the end, Malik found his way back to his own house, frustrated and defeated. He spent the remainder of the day at the chess board mostly staring blindly at it, still as a statue while his mind raged on. He did not know exactly what it was he was feeling. All he knew was a deep lust that screamed to be sated seethed in his chest.

Even Kadar was unable to get through to him and soon gave up trying to get his brother to tell him exactly what was on his mind.

It was well past sunset when Malik finally caved in. If he had stayed awake in his bed ruminating over the damned man for any longer he would have lost a large portion of his sanity. With the utmost stealth, he pulled on his boots and stole out of his house, sneaking silently through the shadows cast by the bright moon. It was a simple feat to pass unseen by the guards. Soon, he was on the doorstep of Altaїr’s residence. It only occurred to Malik after he had silently picked the lock and eased the door open that he had never set foot in his rival’s home before.

He glanced about, taking in the sight. He was struck by a scent that was uniquely Altaїr, a sort of spice mixed with worn leather and blade polishing oil. The furnishings were simple, the cushions not as decorated as the ones in Malik’s own house. It was also much tidier than he was expecting and quite a bit smaller. Malik knew that after Umar was killed, Altaїr had lived within the walls of the fortress of Masyaf. It was not long after he reached adulthood that he sought out residence in the town. In fact, it had occurred just after he had been released from his short prison sentence after his well-known fight with Abbas. They had roomed together, Malik recalled. It was no wonder that Altaїr had wanted to seek a residence away from the young man.

Malik stepped lightly over the carpets covering the main room, past the hearth and to the back room, separated only by a simple curtain. He stood before the doorway, knowing if he hesitated now he would never be able to force himself to continue. In one silent motion, he swept past the cloth and his gaze fell upon the sleeping Assassin. Altaїr was sprawled out on a simple hay stuffed mattress. The man’s untidy position brought a grin to Malik’s cheeks, but immediately his stomach dropped.

Now what? If he woke him, the man was just going to laugh at his desperation.

He stepped silently to the man’s side and stared down at the serious expression he wore even in sleep. The moonlight from the single open window fell across the man’s face, illuminating his sleep-mussed hair. Malik leaned forward just slightly, studying his features, his desire for the man only growing.

One moment, he was fast asleep and the next those amber eyes were open and blazing. Before Malik could speak or even think to move, his legs were swept out from under him and he fell backwards to the carpeted floor. He gasped as the breath was knocked from his lungs and was barely able to catch the wrist that held a knife to his throat, his body pinned by the suddenly awoken Assassin.

“Wait-” he managed to choke, struggling to keep the blade from his skin. Malik was suddenly regretting his decision to visit in the dead of night.

Realization and recognition flashed in the dangerous amber eyes above him. “Malik?”

Malik scowled up at him. “Safety and peace, Altaїr.” His tone dripped with annoyance. A smirk passed by Altaїr’s lips. The dagger disappeared from the man’s grasp, but Altaїr made no move to let the other assassin up. Malik’s scowl deepened at the cocky smirk. “If this is how you treat all of your guests, I understand why people avoid you.”

The quip did nothing to deter the man pinning him to the ground. “There are only two reasons why someone steals into another’s bedroom in the dead of night. The first is sinister, and the second-”

Not letting him finish that sentence, Malik shoved Altaїr off of him. The action was allowed and Malik stood, flustered and fidgeting. He stole a glance back at Altaїr, who simply gazed smugly back at him from his place on the floor. Malik sighed. “Forget it.”

He turned, fully intending to stalk away and never enter the man’s home again. As he took the first step, gentle but firm hands grasped him about his waist.

“It is the latter, is it not?” The soft, sensuous question whispered behind his ear, sending a chill down Malik’s neck. He froze, relishing in the warmth of Altaїr’s body so close to his, at the heat of the man’s hands seeping through the fabric of his bedclothes. He could hear the man’s cocksure smirk in his words. “I knew it would only be a matter of time until-”

Again not allowing the man to finish, Malik spun in his grasp, fiery eyes burning holes into those amber eyes, so full of mischief. “Be silent,” he growled, the words so reluctant but not wanting for lust. “For once, just-” he grasped Altaїr by the shoulders, his fingers digging into the rough spun fabric of his night shirt, “-just stop talking.” He brought their faces close, but stopped before their lips could meet.

Altaїr never followed orders and this was no exception. He tilted his head to the side, leaning forward enticingly as he spoke. “What about this ‘sodomy’ that you were so afraid of?”

 Malik’s breath caught in his throat, the desire to have the man almost overwhelming his restraint. “It seems that Masyaf is free from the laws prohibiting it, at least in the Brotherhood. Now _shut up_.” He shoved Altaїr backward, the man coming to sit upon his own mattress with a bemused smirk spread across his face. Malik hastily pulled his own robe over his head, tossing it aside and looking at Altaїr expectantly. “Well?”

Altaїr still smirked up at him. Malik had half a thought to bodily force himself upon the man, but all pretenses were thrown to the wind as the other man hooked his fingers just under the hem of his pants. A flash of desire crossed those amber eyes as he pulled Malik closer. Malik let out a deep sigh as those strong hands pressed against his flesh, wandering his muscled torso. Light, lingering kisses came next, lips pressed hungrily on his olive skin, over the thin line of hair trailing down to his crotch. He had just shaven his face after his mission and the smooth skin sent chills down Malik’s spine, heat pooling in his groin. Malik stared down at Altaїr’s soft ministrations in a lust-hazed wonder. He had half expected the man to just have his way with him, as what happened on the road to Masyaf.

The man was always full of surprises and this was no exception. He seemed to be relishing in this moment. Malik would have made a snarky comment, but his voice was silenced before it began as those devious hands circled his hips, reaching further and taking a firm hold of his ass. Teeth were now scraping at his abs, replaced by harsh kisses.

Encouraging the developments, Malik ran his fingers through Altaїr’s short hair, continuing down his neck, over his shoulder blades, the loose nightshirt he wore giving way to his adventurous touch.

In one swift move, Altaїr caught Malik off balance and pulled him to fall backwards onto the mattress. Climbing back, Altaїr pulled the boots off of Malik’s feet, dropping them heavily to the floor. Malik sat up only to be pressed back by an insisting hand as Altaїr came to straddle his legs. Altaїr pulled his shirt off in one swift motion, tossing it carelessly to the side. Met with the reveal of that gloriously muscled torso, Malik could do nothing to stop himself from reaching for it, palms exploring the light olive skin dappled with scars. He was so entranced that it took him a long moment to notice Altair staring down at him, regarding him with a bemused grin. Malik let his hand fall away, glaring back up at the man. Altaїr’s sly grin only broadened, hands smoothing down Malik’s chest, fingers working slowly at unlacing his pants.

Malik caught his breath, unconsciously undulating under the man, pressing his hips into the light touch. His laces were pulled loose, but then the touch was removed. Malik grunted in annoyance, looking up as Altaїr looked smugly down at him.

Desiring much more than what Altaїr was giving him at that moment, Malik turned the tides. In a feat, he flipped him onto his back after an initial playful struggle put up by the man. Malik prevailed and set to work, placing hungry kisses on the man’s chest, hastily working his way down, hands already hard at work with his pant lacings. He craved more of the man, drinking in the heavy breaths that he was eliciting. He could feel the man’s arousal beneath his working fingers and hungered for it.

His stiff sex was soon free of the cloth, which Malik hastily pulled out of the way. Entranced and not knowing exactly what he wanted to do to the man, he glanced up at him. Altaїr had lifted himself up onto his elbows and was staring down at him, mouth open and pulling in heady breaths. The cocksure smirk was gone and what replaced it made Malik’s own sex stir and stiffen. Pupils large, the man’s expression read as nothing but carnal craving.

Malik was not so naïve of the art of making love, though it had been long since he had fallen under the allure of a woman. It had always been far more important to prove himself to the Brotherhood, to best his rival, than to satisfy his body’s urges. This, however, was quite a turn of events that Malik certainly was welcome to explore. Perhaps this was what he had been searching for, but had been too blinded by jealousy to realize.

He ran his tongue over the man’s weeping tip, reveling in the sharp intake of air he elicited out of his partner. He took the man’s sex into his mouth next, drawing a deep moan of pleasure from Altaїr. He worked at it, sucking and bobbing. A hand found its way to cup around the back of Malik’s head, scratching and gripping his hair, coaxing more movement from him. For once, Malik complied with Altaїr’s wishes and moved faster, gripping his shaft and squeezing its girth as he sucked.

After a few drawn out moments, Malik pulled away, leaving Altaїr panting and wanting for more. He stepped away, removing the remainder of his clothing, Altaїr hastily doing the same. As Malik stepped out of his pants, his wrist was caught and he once again fell upon the mattress, Altaїr upon him. Amber eyes dark with lust looked down at him for the briefest moment, closing as their lips met and parted, biting and gasping. Altaїr ground his hips into Malik’s, their sexes sliding enticingly against one another. Malik grasped at the man’s back, digging his fingers into those rippling muscles.

Turning the tides once more, Malik pressed the man away, sitting up to meet him. Arms were just as entwines as their legs, each one seeking out more skin to bite and kiss. Sitting up, their arousals were neglected from the friction that had developed before. Noticing this need, Altaїr brought a hand between them, grasping both of their sexes and squeezing them together. Malik also sacrificed a grasping hand and covered the other man’s, coaxing movement out of him. They were soon lost in pleasure, gasps and moans released without restraint as their bodies undulated together, both supporting and being supported by the other as they remained upright.

They continued on, both trying to simultaneously come to completion while drawing the pleasure out as long as they could. Altaїr tossed his head back while Malik rested his forehead on his shoulder, eyes clenched shut in ecstasy. The pleasure from his cock was just as intense as the pleasure he got from the grunts and moans coming from Altaїr’s throat with every beat of their hands.

Their motions grew faster, hands sluicing up and down their shafts shaking with the effort and pleasure of it all. Altaїr’s body gave a sharp jolt and he released a loud grunting moan as he reached his climax, the erotic sound making Malik come to his own finish. They rode out their orgasms with relish, muscles shaking as they clutched to one another. They squeezed the rest of their seed from their spent cocks, leaning on one another for support, sucking in needy breaths as they recovered. Altaїr pressed Malik back onto the mattress and he was met with no protest as the man lay halfway on him, his weight and sticky heat an odd comfort.

Slowly, their breathing calmed, but they remained with their limbs entwined. Malik had a thought to remove himself, suddenly wary of his actions and their implications once again. As he started to press the other man away, Altaїr held him tight and stilled the action.

“Not this time. This time you stay.” There was no room for argument in Altaїr’s insisting tone.

Malik sighed and gave in. His muscles were loose from the exertion and intense pleasure and he most likely would have had trouble standing if he had left the embrace. Altaїr began planting soft kisses on his shoulder - an almost possessive action. Malik smirked at a thought. “If I did not know better, I would think that you have wanted to do this for much longer than I know.” It was only half a joke.

Altaїr’s voice was soft. Whether that was because of his post-sex bliss or from the touchiness of the question, Malik did not know. “Maybe you do not know better.”

Malik pried further. “How long, then?” As if to silence him, Altaїr pressed his lips to Malik’s and they were lost in the intertwining of lip and tongue.

As they pulled apart, Malik found himself breathless once again. He had received his answer. “Much longer than I know.” Altaїr simply rested his head beside Malik’s, remaining silent. They lay in silence for a while in their sprawling embrace.

Malik had figured Altaїr had fallen asleep, but was proved wrong as the man spoke softly to him, not moving to release him from his comforting and oddly possessive hold. “I thought you were going to report me to Al Mualim.” His voice was deep with satisfaction and fatigue. Malik was reminded that he had just returned from a week long mission and felt a touch of guilt at taking away from the man’s rest.

“It is not against our Creed; I have found out that much. Regardless, I am as much an offender as you,” Malik replied just as lowly, his tone softer than anything he had used towards his partner to date. “I would have turned myself in at the same time if I had spoken.”

“You are very apt at placing blame on me. You would have found a way.”

“I find a way because you are usually the one at fault.” He shoved the man playfully, a smirk coming unbidden to his lips. Altaїr caught his wrist, pinning it above his head, really looking into Malik’s eyes for the first time since their feat of passion.

There was a smile in those amber eyes that did not reach his mouth. “Only in your eyes, perhaps.”

Malik stared up at him. “Perhaps.”

With that the two Assassins were lost in each other once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I failed to mention that I have a headcanon that Altair clutches at whatever he can when he sleeps? Yeah. I love that asshole.  
> Thank you for all of your lovely feedback! It helps give me inspiration!  
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter, Rise in Rank!


	13. Rise in Rank

The morning came far too soon, Malik reluctantly waking just as the first hint of light spread across the dark sky, revealed through the uncovered window. He found himself with his back turned on his intimate partner, a possessive arm holding him close to the other man’s bare chest. It would seem that the man clutched at whatever he could while he slept. It would at least explain the man clutching his leg that night in the Bureau on their mission. Malik had never been one to cuddle, but he was willing to allow this endearing action.

Malik found himself thinking upon his duties of the day and longed to stay in the embrace, but he knew he had to depart to begin his morning. Malik tried to pull himself away but the arm around his chest clutched him tighter. When he tried to pull the arm away, he felt the man stir behind him.

Altaїr’s voice was thick with sleep, the annoyance perhaps softer than it would have been if he had not just woken. “Must you wake at this hour?”

Malik rolled his eyes, unseen by the other man. “Unlike you, I have other duties to attend.”

“What could possibly be done before sunrise?”

The arm was still unrelenting in its hold on Malik. “Going home before Kadar wakes to find me returning in my nightclothes, for one. I also have early lessons with my students.”

Altaїr scoffed. “Students? What, are you a scholar now? I was only gone for eight days.”

If Malik ever had a doubt as to Altaїr’s thoughts on the lower rank of scholars and the superiority of field Assassins, that statement cleared it up. “I am only teaching them the basics of cartography.”

Altaїr made a grunt that sounded like “maps,” still making no move to release Malik.

He tried to pull away but was still held fast by the drowsy Assassin. “Altaїr,” he said lowly in warning. At that, the man sighed and retracted his arm, folding it under his head and watching as Malik stood. Grabbing his discarded clothing from the floor, Malik began dressing. As he was lacing his pants, he stole a glance at his intimate partner, who was watching on with an amused, aroused look. Malik ignored this and smoothed his nightshirt before sloppily pulling on his boots, not bothering to buckle them.

As Malik turned to leave, Altair called out to him. “Good luck sneaking back to your house. Kadar has keen ears.”

Malik turned with a smirk. “I do not need luck for that, only skill.” At that, Altaїr laid his head back with an amused grin, waving the man away.

\---

“You are sending us out to test us already?” Tariq stared dubiously at his teacher, always the one to catch subtle changes in one’s demeanor or tone. A good skill for an Assassin to have in infiltrating and discreetly collecting information. He had noticed a change in Malik that morning, his prying questions coming one after the other. “Just yesterday you said we needed weeks more training.” The three of them, teacher and two pupils, stood in their usual spot in the back of the library. The usual bright morning light was hazy with the promise of rain. Winter truly was on their doorstep.

Malik held back a wince. He had been growing rather frustrated at everything in the days past and perhaps he had been taking it out on his students too much. His mind was light with satisfied desire rather than heavy with plaguing thoughts of wanton lust. This was the change that Tariq had noticed the instant they met up for their daily lessons.

“I have re-evaluated your progress, both of you,” he also addressed Naji, always the quiet one, “and I have been more than satisfied with your work so far. You have successfully plotted the accurate coordinates of the Masyaf landmarks in the past few days. The final test to prove your competency will be to venture beyond these walls. There are five scout towers positioned in the mountains surrounding here. Find them and mark their positions. Bring them back to me and I will decide if you are ready to go out into the field.”

A look of dismay came over Tariq and he gave a brief glance at the darkening sky. “It is going to rain soon. Must we start our test now?”

No amount of morning after bliss could stop Malik’s severity as a teacher on matters such as these. He would not abide by laziness and reluctance. His tone was firm and commanding and the two young Assassins appeared to shrink away as he spoke. “Does the Brotherhood stop their missions when there is a little rain? Do the Templars stop their plight when winter comes? As long as the sun keeps rising and falling, we continue our mission, through rain and snow, mud and sleet. If you are afraid of the wet, you will never survive in a grand battle with blood raining down on you from your enemies and your brothers. You had best get used to the rain; it is the least of your worries.”

That made the two young Assassins silent for a long moment, eyes wide. Malik envied their innocence but knew it was dangerous for them to not know how truly bloody their feud with the Templars was, especially if they were to go far beyond the protective walls of Masyaf.

Naji was the one to speak up first, his voice soft and careful. “Have you been in a battle like that?”

Malik took a slow, steadying breath. This was a lesson they needed to know well. “I was younger than you when Salah Al’din’s army laid siege to Masyaf. I saw the carnage, though I was too young to fight. My father made sure to show me the consequences of a battle. I looked on as his friend, Master Umar Ibn-La’Ahad was beheaded for killing the wrong man. I saw the corpses of men who I knew beside the corpses of our enemy. I heard the screams of dying men and I could not tell if they were friend or foe. There is nothing glorious about men killing other men. It is dirty but necessary work. It is naïve to think that you will never see that kind of bloodshed; it is inevitable when you are in the Brotherhood. So think on this when you are slogging through the mud and snow, because it could and will be worse. It could be the blood of your brothers, and it inevitably will be the blood of your brothers.”

Naji stood with his jaw open, fear openly displayed in his innocent brown eyes. “Is there no hope?”

Malik released a sigh and rubbed a hand down his face, scratching at the short scruff of hair at the end of his chin. He thought upon this for a long moment before responding. “We fight for peace. That is always worth the bloodshed.” He sighed again and waved the two Assassins on. “Think upon this as you go out today. Be thankful that it is only rain.”

The two youths left Malik in a contemplative silence, clutching their notebooks close to their chests to keep them from the wet. Malik simply stood where he was, eventually leaning on the back of a chair, lost in deep thought.

“Those are wise words for someone so young.”

Malik jumped at the familiar voice, straightening and bowing his head hastily as Al Mualim stepped around a bookshelf, a twinkle in his good eye.

“Mentor,” Malik greeted him. “I know it was not my place to lecture them, my still being a trainee in the Brotherhood.”

Al Mualim still looked at him with that oddly appraising expression. “You show a dedication to the tenants of our Creed not seen in many of our brothers. Not only that, but you have an understanding of them.”

This caught Malik off guard. He had expected to be put into his place, for taking on the role of a scholar, many ranks above his own, when he was only to teach his students cartography. He recovered quickly. “I do what I can, Mentor.”

He nodded at this, clasping his hands behind his back and stepping closer to the younger man. “Your recent actions have deemed you worthy enough to be promoted beyond the rank of a trainee and accepted as a full Assassin.” Malik’s heart rose into his throat and he could feel it beating there. “Would you accept the responsibilities of this rank?”

His legs felt weak and he had to swallow a few times before attempting to speak. “Of course, Mentor,” was all he could manage.

Al Mualim nodded, a small grin of satisfaction spreading to his bearded cheeks. “Very well. I will assemble and inform the Brotherhood . A ceremony will be held on the morrow.”

Malik bowed deeply, eyes still wide with the shock of it all. “It will be an honor, Mentor. Thank you.” With that, the Grand Master took his leave, allowing Malik the peace of the silent library to stew over this reveal. He did not stay there for long, needing to breathe the fresh air, heavy with the scent of newly fallen rain on dusty ground.

He found himself standing in the courtyard, staring into the dark sky, large drops falling onto his uncovered face. He barely felt them, barely heard the noisy trainee Assassins give shouts of both joy and dismay at the first rain of the season.

He knew not how long he stood there until there was a hand at his shoulder. Broken from his reverie, he turned to find his brother’s concerned face looking up at him.

“Malik, you look like a man who has just seen Allah,” Kadar spoke to him insistently. He held a wooden practice sword in one hand, clearly fresh from a sparring match. The other trainees had broken from their sparring and were reveling in the new rain, giving his young brother a chance to break away.

A wide grin spread unbidden to Malik’s cheeks as he turned to his brother. “Al Mualim is promoting me to a full Assassin.” Kadar practically beamed at him. “The ceremony is tomorrow,” Malik continued.

“That is great news, Malik,” Kadar chimed, wiping sweat and rain from his brow. There was a sharp shout from the sparring instructor to the distracted trainees to get back to work. Kadar jumped, racing back down to the field with a quick apology to his brother.

Coming back into himself, Malik pulled his hood up against the rain and made his way down the steep hill, not knowing exactly where he was going or why. He simply walked through the steadily falling rain, catching glances from townsfolk rushing to get out of the weather amongst children cheering and rushing to get in it. Feeling the water begin to soak through his cowl, he ducked under an empty market stall set against a wall, the overhanging cloth not yet dripping. Leaning against the wall, he allowed a small grin to cross his cheeks as he saw the children run through the rain, dancing in the shallow puddles already forming. Their shrieks of joy echoed dully in the courtyard.

“Given your students the day off?” The voice beside his ear did not make Malik jump. He was far too familiar with the man by now to not expect him at any given moment. How exactly he was found was another matter entirely. Malik was certain it had something to do with his so-called Eagle Vision.

Malik turned to Altaїr, who too leaned against the wall out of the rain, a crooked smirk on his scarred lips. Malik scoffed at his question. “Have you ever known me to be so lenient? They are collecting data outside Masyaf.”

In one motion, Altaїr swept close, his body almost touching the other man, his mouth just beside Malik’s ear. The intimacy of the closeness was not lost upon Malik. Altaїr’s voice was low and teasing. “Just because your students are out in the rain does not mean that you have to be.”

Malik placed a hand to the other man’s shoulder, pressing him away. His eyes deceived him however, staring lustily at the other man. Malik whole heartedly ignored the suggesting comment and side stepped it entirely. “It seems like so long ago that we ran out into the first rain of the season.” He glanced over at the children, running circles around each other in glee.

The other man shook his head slightly. “I have never liked the rain. It obscures the vision, makes the roads treacherous and rooftops slick.”

That brought a quirk to Malik’s lips. “I was just lecturing my students on why they should not complain of the rain. It would be lost on you, I know.”

Altaїr drew himself closer once again. “What makes you think that?”

Malik gritted his teeth. There it was - that arrogance. He should have known that it would only get worse if he allowed the man to be his intimate partner. It was no less frustrating than it had been before. But now there was an edge of desire that all at once infuriated and satisfied Malik.

The hand that was still on Altaїr’s shoulder gripped a handful of his damp cowl, shaking him a bit. Malik’s tone was low and held certain sharpness. “Because you _never_ listen.”

The smirk dropped from Altaїr’s face, noting the sudden change in the other man. He placed a hand on the fist bunched in his clothing, the other wrapping around Malik’s waist, pulling him close all in one fluid motion. “Perhaps not to you.”

“Someday you will.”

“Only when you are my equal, and you are far from that.”

Anger flashed through Malik’s mind and he turned the two of them, pinning Altaїr none too gently against the wall. “Not as far as you think.” Their faces were close and it only took a small lurch forward for Altaїr to connect their lips. The harsh exchange was short lived, however. The distinct sound of quickly approaching feet squelching through shallow mud forced the two apart.

They simultaneously looked to find a young Novice approaching, the hood pulled over his head heavy and dripping with rain. He stopped in front of the pair and caught his breath for a moment before addressing them. “Altaїr?” The man silently stepped forward as he was addressed. “Al Mualim requests your presence in his study.”

Altaїr sighed at this news. “Another mission? I just got back from my last one yesterday.”

The young man shook his head. “It is not a mission. He is assembling the Brotherhood for a meeting.”

Malik could see Altaїr stiffen. He could not see the man’s expression due to his obscuring hood, but he could only imagine his severe, worried brow. “Is something wrong?”

The Assassin relaxed the instant the Novice shook his head. “I don’t know anything other than that, though, just that the Mentor is gathering the Brotherhood.”

Altaїr sighed. “Very well. I will be there shortly.” With a brief glance towards Malik, Altaїr disappeared in the direction of the library, the solitary white figure dissolving into the gray rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought a little back story was needed in this chapter, just to see where Malik was coming from and perhaps to understand why he is so cautious and respectful of the Creed. Good ol' Faheem, being the best macabre medieval tour guide for his impressionable young son.  
> Stay tuned for next week's steamy installment, Chapter 14: Spice in Smoke!


	14. Spice in Smoke

Haze hung heavy around a solitary figure, cloaked in the shadow of his calm, sheltering abode. Warm, thin smoke filled his lungs, the taste of the blend of spices filling his nose and mouth. Malik exhaled deeply, filling the air around him with the sweet smoke and allowing the tension that had built up over the weeks melt away. He sat alone amongst the deep cushions in the main room of his home, feet pressed together in a meditative position. He took another deep draw from the long stemmed pipe in his hand, allowing the smoke to fill him once again. The heavy rain danced on the roof overhead, creating a rhythmic thrum through the hazy room.

It had been far too long since he had allowed himself to unwind and simply be lost in deep meditation. He had been so caught up in his own ruminating thoughts over the past weeks that he had all but forgotten his regular need to relax and clear his mind. Everyone around him had suffered for it, had born against his increasing irritability and sharpness. He was normally curt and straightforward but he had taken a turn for the worse ever since he and Altaїr had left on their journey. It was far beyond time for him to gather his foul thoughts and dispose of them. The blend of tobacco, herbs and spices packed into the end of his pipe aided in his deep breathing, sending him deeper into his relaxation.

Malik pressed all thoughts of the Brotherhood from his mind. The thrill of his promotion the next day abided slowly, followed by his lustful thoughts towards his rival-turned lover. He closed his eyes to the world, to the hazy interior of his home. He stepped deeper into his subconscious, losing sense of his own body and focusing on the deep sensations that dwelled beyond physical sensations. He felt his mind walk deeper into the warm, comforting darkness and he lost himself in the void.

Far off it seemed he heard a door open and close. The small place in his mind that was still aware signed it off as his brother returning home. Kadar knew to not disturb his brother when he was so deep in his meditation, so Malik easily slipped back under knowing that he would be unperturbed.

It was rare that he found himself feeling safe enough to delve so deep into his trance. It was only when he was in the safety of his own home that he could drop his defenses so. Even then, he kept a small part of himself aware of his surroundings. Every Assassin grew up with one ear open to danger in whatever they did, be it during a mission, in sleep, while relaxing, or even in an intimate moment. Danger was just a part of their lives as was any of these and they were taught to always be wary of its presence. Even in his own home, Malik still held that understanding, but he was secure enough to be on a quite low level of alertness.

He had no sense of time as he meditated. The next he was disturbed could have been after hours or mere moments. Something both soft and insistent pressed to his lips. Instinctually, he opened his mouth and a flood of warm, sweet smoke was exhaled past his lips. He took the breath in deeply, slowly drawing himself from his trance. He exhaled through his nose, his lips still engaged. There was a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him close. Awareness was flooding back now and he found himself leaning forward and actively participating in the gentle exchange of lip and tongue.

Only when the touch was removed did he open his eyes, knowing full well who had drawn him from his meditation. The meeting announcing his ascension into the Brotherhood must have come to a close.

Those amber eyes flashed mischievously before him, the man’s voice low. “I believe congratulations are in order.”

“No thanks to you,” Malik breathed, unable to tear his gaze away from those peering eyes. His voice was raspy from smoke and thick from being so deep into his own mind. Altaїr was crouched before him, his hand still cupping behind his neck. In a liquid motion, barely detectable, he pressed Malik back into the large cushions propped up just behind him, climbing over him and positioning himself possessively over Malik. Malik looked up; his mind still slow from being in such a deep trance. He looked on as Altaїr took the still lit pipe from his hand and took a deep draw. Those lips were at his once again, tongue pressing for entrance. Malik allowed this and again breathed in as Altaїr exhaled, the warm sweet spice filling his senses. Taking in the man’s breath was oddly erotic and he relished in this new level of intimacy. Their lips separated in a gush of white wisps of smoke, curling between them like an ethereal dancing curtain.

The man had removed his rain sodden cowl and Malik took the rare opportunity to run lazy fingers through his short, messy hair. A hand trailed down Malik’s chest, over the wide belt that he had not removed, and over the cloth covering his loins.

Now quite aware of the sensations of his body, Malik bit his lip and reluctantly took a hold of Altaїr’s wandering hand and stilled his kneading motions. “Not here.”

Altaїr bent down close, lips almost touching his. “Kadar is still in the training field.”

Mind now foggy with something other than meditation, Malik had to stop himself from pulling the man closer. “My students-”

The voice that came next was deep with lust, the breath warm and still smelling of cloves from the pipe. It stirred something deep in Malik’s chest and he felt heat pool in his lower abdomen. “It is barely past midday. If they are working to your standards, they won’t be back until at least the early evening.” Without waiting for another protest, Altaїr dipped his head and placed a desirous kiss on Malik’s chest, over the robes he wore. Malik watched in desperate fascination as he continued to descend, finally coming to his crotch where an already obvious bulge made itself known. On this Altaїr placed his last kiss, the touch prolonged. Malik let out a deep, needy sigh at the contact, settling further back into the cushions.

Altaїr tugged at the strings at his crotch, loosening the knot that held his pants together. Rather than take the time to remove the clothing article completely, Altaїr simply dove his hand into the space he had made and drew out the man’s quickly stiffening sex. He unabashedly swept down, drawing his tongue from base to tip in a long drawn out motion. This pulled a desiring moan from Malik’s throat and when he looked down at the man, an amused and aroused smirk looked back before dipping down again to tend to the man’s cock.

This time, those lips surrounded his full head, tongue sweeping the sensitive skin enticingly. Malik caught his breath, biting down and effectively stifling an even louder moan. Altaїr must have sensed this, drawing the man deeper into his mouth and sucking hard. Malik pulled in a harsh gasp at this, reaching down and gripping a handful of the man’s hair just as Altaїr had done the night before. Encouraged, Altaїr wrapped a hand around his shaft and shifted it up and down as his mouth moved around his manhood’s head.

He sucked harder, moved faster, until Malik was gasping for breath, clutching at the man’s hair and at the fabric of his robe. He was shaking with pleasure, moving his hips up and down in time with Altaїr’s strokes and bobs.

Malik had never suspected Altaїr to be willing to give pleasure like this. He always took and never gave. Perhaps he really had misjudged the Assassin all along. In some ways, at least. There definitely were other sides to the man that Malik could never tolerate.

As it was, with the man’s mouth around his cock, Malik cared little. It was pure animalistic cravings that drove this, he told himself.

As he came to his finish, Malik arched his back and went rigid, Altaїr receiving his seed without protest. He slowly relaxed his white knuckled grip on the man’s robes, catching his breath as he leaned back into the cushions. When he looked back up at his partner, he was wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve, a satisfied grin flashing on his face. Again taking a hold of Altaїr’s robes, Malik forcefully pulled him into a ravaging kiss. It was a brief embrace, but heady.

Altaїr pulled away first, a smug and overly proud smirk spread over his scarred lips. He retrieved the still smoking pipe and took another deep pull from it, never taking those enticing amber eyes off of Malik. For once, Malik could really study the man’s face. He had not shaven since the night before, but even then little hair had graced his cheeks. His eyes fell to the scar on his upper and lower lip, still pink from its newness.

“I see your scar is healing nicely,” he quipped, breaking the silence that had accumulated between them. He rubbed a thumb roughly over the man’s upper lip, watching in satisfaction as the man flinched just slightly. As he suspected, it was still tender. It had not been two months since he had given the man that scar.

Altaїr caught the man’s hand in his own and growled, but not entirely without lust. “I have marked you a fair amount.” Malik felt his lips quirk upward and he took his long stemmed pipe from the man, putting it to his mouth but not taking a pull just yet.

“I do not scar as easily, my fair-skinned friend,” he teased, now sucking at the end of the pipe and breathing in the sweet smoke.

Altaїr’s eyes flashed with mischief. “You would if I cut you deep enough.”

Malik exhaled, filling the space between them with the thin white smoke. “I would like to see you try, brother.”

“Is that a challenge?” A smirk dissolved from the haze between them and Malik could not resist smothering that mouth with a biting kiss. They were lost in each other once again, among the swirling sweet smoke and the deep cushions cradling the two Assassins.

\---

Rain pattered on the broad and tall window above the grand library staircase, Al Mualim’s voice carrying over the heads of the gathered members of the Brotherhood. All those in attendance were glad to be out of the pouring rain, as the ceremony was being held indoors and not in the courtyard behind the library as usual.

Malik could barely hear the words that their Mentor said. The new robes given to him that morning felt heavy on his shoulders, the long tails hanging almost to his heels. It had two more layers than his trainee robes, the shirt underneath and his cowl now white instead of gray. He stood just a few steps down from the top of the stair landing where Al Mualim presided. His back was turned to the rather sizeable crowd behind him. Every Assassin not away on a mission or otherwise detained, both trainee and full Brother, stood listening to the Grand Master speak of the Creed, of duty, and of loyalty. Most had listened to the speech before if they had witnessed another brother’s ascent. Most treated the ceremony with respect, but there certainly were reluctant viewers. They saw the ceremony as frivolous, or they thought themselves incapable of reaching such heights so they resented the whole ordeal.

Malik had been one of the latter. He had sat through far too many ceremonies when he could have been bettering himself. Now that he was the one receiving the honor, he found the ceremony an essential part of being welcomed into the Brotherhood. It was his way of announcing his rank, of declaring his dedication to the Assassins.

This was his moment to finally be equal with Altaїr.

Al Mualim finished his address to the crowd as a whole and focused then only on the man before him. “Malik Al-Sayf, son of Faheem Al-Sayf. You have worked long and hard to achieve this rank. You were raised in the Assassin Order. Your law is the Creed and your home is the Brotherhood. We are your parents, your brothers, and your comrades and we all stand behind you now.” Al Mualim gave a broad motion towards Malik. “With your new robes, you become the eagle, looking from on high for your prey. Wearing them, you will hide in plain sight. As you clothe yourself in the robes of a full Assassin you will be stealth itself.” He motioned for a scholar standing to his right to approach. He carried with him a single item. Al Mualim took it up and held it delicately in his hands. Its hilt gleamed gold in the gray, rainy light, the curved blade sharp enough to cut through the toughest armor.

“This blade will be your talons. With this sword you will strike down your foes. Wield it well and stay its edge from those who are innocent. Bear it with pride and you will carve our foes with ease.” This he bestowed upon Malik, who took it carefully. “And now I give you the title of Assassin. As an eagle with deadly talons, this title is your pride, your grace. It is your wings. Bearing the name Assassin, you will never bring dishonor or danger upon the Brotherhood. You work in the dark to serve the light.”

Malik bowed his head as he sheathed his new weapon, knowing just what the old man was going to say next. It was always the same.

“Now I ask you, to see what kind of man you are, to respond to the ageless scenario: You come across a river that you must cross. How do you achieve this?” Malik glanced up and saw a twinkle in the man’s eye. No response was incorrect, and even not answering was admissible. He had been thinking upon this question ever since he had first heard it, and he still was unsure what he would say.

“It would depend on the circumstance,” Malik replied slowly at first, his voice growing in strength as he continued. “If I were alone, I would cross it myself. If I were escorting someone, I would follow it to find a bridge. If I were being pursued, I would use it to my advantage in a fight. There is no way of knowing how to cross it until I come to it and assess the situation. Only then will I know how to cross the river.”

Al Mualim nodded at his answer. “You are as wise as you are skillful with a blade, Malik Al-Sayf.” He stepped forward once more and placed his hands on Malik’s shoulders. “Welcome to the Brotherhood.”

A chorus of voices thrummed through the high-ceilinged library, each man speaking as if with one voice. “ _Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine_.” Nothing is true, everything is permitted.

When the echo died down, the Grand Master addressed the man before him one last time. “Come to the tower, Assassin Malik Al-Sayf, and let your wings carry you to safety.”

The procession up the stairs to the tall tower was a silent one. Malik was surrounded on all sides by men he had grown up with, men who he had sparred with and men who he had killed with. The full Assassins were the ones to lead the way, followed by Malik and then the apprentices and trainees. Malik glanced forward and saw the crooked smirk of Altaїr staring back at him before he turned away, continuing his ascent up the stairs. Kadar had pressed his way forward and was at his shoulder, his face beaming with pride for his older brother.

It seemed altogether forever and only a moment until he was facing his brothers who had made a path to the wooden outcrop at the top of the tower. The rain raged beyond the protection of the stone roof, Masyaf below obscured by the mist.

Malik made his way in between the two columns of robed men. He braced against the weather as he stepped out of the protection of the tower. The rain beat against his hood, soaking through his new robes. The tails whipped in the wind as he stood on the wooden outcrop, the ground obscured below him. He took a deep breath of the moist, crisp air and raised his arms.

He was the eagle.

He was an Assassin.

He closed his eyes to the world and leapt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have Malik smoking a Hookah, but after some research I found out that hookahs weren't invented until the 1500s. Rule number one of writing a semi-historically accurate (haha not really) story is not putting inventions in 300 years too early. They did, however, smoke pipes with various spices mixed in with tobacco (or weed, but I decided that Malik wouldn't want to get high, kind of like how I don't think he would drink alcohol. Mind-altering things would get in the way of his integrity). Similarly, I was going to have coffee be a drink that they normally consumed, but again, it wasn't brought to the region until the 1500s.  
> Needless to say, I now know a lot more about the history of hookahs and coffee in Syria.  
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter of Silent Discourse: Chapter 15: Judicature in Jerusalem!


	15. Judicature in Jerusalem

Weeks had passed since Malik’s initiation into the Assassin Brotherhood. With his ascent came new responsibilities. He had been sent on his first solo mission to Acre and had returned with little more than a few bruises along with his bloodied feather. As a full member of the Brotherhood, he was invited to the strategizing meetings held by Al Mualim, where they discussed recent events and their implications to the Order. They planned and plotted in the closed and secure meeting room, all gathered around a sturdy oblong table in high backed chairs.

This was where they decided who would die and how. For once, Malik could have his voice heard and received with respect. Although all of the full Assassins were invited to these meetings, only a handful attended. Each man had their strengths and those who knew the intricacies of strategy were the ones to come. Altaїr had never come to a meeting and Malik never expected him to. As he put it himself, his talents were beyond plotting in the dark with old men.

Altaїr. Even thinking of the man brought a wave of lust along with an undertone of uncertainty that never quite went away. It had taken him many nights of holding back, of pushing him away just enough to keep from going further, for Malik to finally come to terms with the depth of their arrangement. He had finally taken the final step in allowing the man into his psyche. He had given himself fully to him. In a surge of trust he had allowed Altaїr to take him, knowing full well that he was potentially writing his own sentence to the chopping block.

He disregarded all of his qualms that evening, finally fully giving in to his carnal urges. It had been a night of galaxies colliding, inhibitions thrown to the wind. Neither man would deny that they had plunged into the depths, but neither man would say that they regretted it for a moment.

Over the past weeks, Tariq and Naji had been sent out to collect map data and had returned many times with a plethora of valuable information. In his spare time, which was growing shorter and shorter every day, Malik would plot this information onto new maps.

They were in the thick of winter now, not one day gone by without the sky opening up and releasing rain or sleet upon Masyaf. On one particularly dark day, Malik hurried up the slope to the library, sensing that a heavy downpour was imminent. He reached the library just as drops began to patter on the already wet ground. He entered the meeting room, where the council gathered twice a week for their discussions. It was business as usual, except for one bit of troubling news.

“I have received word from Jerusalem,” Al Mualim announced at his place at the head of the table, the gathered Assassins with their lowered hoods listening intently. This was a room with no secrets and each man removed their hood upon entering as a sign of dedication to this. “The word is that men are being taken by force from their homes to serve in the Crusader army. Salah Al’din currently holds Jerusalem and has for some months now. I have reason to believe that the Templars are behind the Crusaders and they plan to attack the city from within. In its weakened state, I fear the worst for the city if more conflict arises.”

“Do we have a name?” The question was asked by an aging Assassin, his gruff and steely appearance revealing the hard years he had dedicated to the Brotherhood.

Al Mualim shook his head. “Not yet, but we have our contacts around the city gathering information. This will be a delicate mission. Stirring up the people will only cause panic and if Salah Al’din’s men hear of this scheme, I fear all is lost in Jerusalem.” The old man paused and gathered his thoughts, the men around the table waiting patiently for his plan. “This is a mission for a Master Assassin, but we have not had one in our ranks for a decade.” His gaze fell upon Malik, a touch of sympathy flashing briefly in that look. It was his father of who he spoke, a great Master Assassin in life.

Malik had been twelve when news arrived from abroad of his father’s death. His skill in languages made his work most useful far outside of Syria and he would be gone for months at a time, returning home only briefly before going off again. Those days he spent with his sons were precious, but few and far between. Malik cared for his younger brother in place of their father, telling him grand stories of the great Master Assassin Faheem. Stories that his father had told him when Kadar was too young to remember.

It was this man that Malik looked up to all his life, this man who he based his strongest convictions off of.

“I will go.” Malik was almost surprised to hear himself say the words. The aged Mentor stared levelly at him from across the long table, though there was a twinkle in his good eye.

“Your skill in stealth would prove useful in this, but you cannot go alone.” Al Mualim was stern in this, and he received scattered nods about the table.

“I do not intend that, Grand Master,” Malik was quick to reply. “I will take a Brother with me.”

“I just returned from Jerusalem. The roads have been treacherous,” another Assassin interjected. “It is a particularly cold winter in the south.”

Malik steeled his resolve. “I will find someone willing to go.”

With that, Al Mualim gave his assent. The meeting continued on as usual, only one man gracing Malik’s thoughts.

\---

Icy rain came down in sheets in the early morning. The oiled cloak Malik wore did little to keep out the cold, but it at least staved off the rain. The man saddling his horse beside him sneered against the wet, drawing his own oil cloak closer about him as he settled.

Malik pulled his horse around so the mare was abreast with Altaїr’s stallion. “Ready?” He asked his companion over the pouring rain.

The man sighed and those penetrating amber eyes glared daggers at him. “Why would you choose me for this mission? Is this some kind of punishment?”

This thought had occurred to Malik, though he was not entirely sure what the punishment would be for. Perhaps he could have used it to punish the man for the day that Malik was unable to walk after one of their lusty unions. He had ultimately come to rely on different reasoning for bringing Altaїr along. “Al Mualim let me decide who would be best suited to join me. As much as I hate to admit it, you are skilled and I think we can work well together.”

The man’s scowl gave way to a knowing smirk. “Or is it that you want me to warm your bed in the cold?” The man reached over and ran a groping hand along Malik’s inner thigh.

Malik gave the man a swift kick in the leg, a bit less good naturedly than he intended. “You think too highly of yourself, Altaїr. I have managed journeying in the winter up until now.” He ignored the man’s look of feigned hurt. Malik pulled his horse onto the road outside the gates of Maysaf, Altaїr keeping close. They rode in silence for a long while, gaining speed gradually. The faster they went, the more the rain was dashed in their eyes, the water streaming from their chins making chilling rivulets that dripped down their chests. For the journey, their misery had only just begun. It was slow going, the road slick with mud.

The one upside to traveling in the rain was that their slower pace meant that they did not have to stop as frequently to let the horses rest. On one of their few stops, Malik continued his explanation of the mission.

“Al Mualim said that this mission is more suited to a Master Assassin,” he spoke as they braced their backs against a sudden gust of wind, their horses pulling at sodden hay from a pile on the side of the road.

Altaїr scoffed at that, rubbing at his arms for warmth beneath his cloak. “Trying to gain the title so soon? That is ambitious, especially for you.”

“Perhaps,” Malik agreed. He let their conversation dissolve into silence once again, motioning towards their mounts so they could continue on.

The day did not seem to grow any warmer as the sun reached higher into the sky. It barely lightened the rain-heavy sky, never once piercing through the thick veil of clouds. The two Assassins pressed on until the early evening, when they stopped to make what camp they could. A fire was impossible in the damp and all the wood would be soaked through. They constructed a sort of half tent by securing an oiled blanket to the branch of a tree and staking two corners into the soft ground. It worked to ward off the rain and wind well enough. A second oiled blanket was placed on the ground beneath it for them to keep off of the mud.

They sat shoulder to shoulder and ate their travel rations in silence, both too wet and miserable to find the energy to converse.

As the last of the light of day wore off, the two men lay beside one another. Altaїr automatically brought his arm about Malik’s waist, as he had grown accustomed to doing on the nights they spent together. Inside Altaїr’s home, within the walls of Masyaf, Malik had gradually grown comfortable with this. Outside those protections and in the open, however, he was wary. His partner pulled him closer as if he sensed this unease, their fronts almost flush together.

The warmth of the embrace brought a wave of life and feeling back into his limbs. Malik’s chilly and damp skin prickled with the other man’s heat and he finally returned the embrace. It was by far the chastest action that Altaїr had done and somehow that made it feel all the more intimate. Malik brushed the thought aside. He had convinced himself over the past weeks that his desires were carnal, they were only brought about by the fierce feelings both good and bad that he had for the man. It certainly was a play of power; every night the two spent together was a struggle for dominance. Their swordfights had been replaced by rolling and wrestling, naked in each other’s arms. But there was something more – a deep pleasure and satisfaction that came no matter which of them came out on top.

As it was, Malik was content to relish in the man’s warming embrace, taking comfort and giving it in return. It was the only solace they had in this hardship.

Five more days of this misery passed. On a trip that would normally only take that amount of time in the summer, traveling to Jerusalem in the winter took at least two more days. At the end of their third day, the two men had grown completely silent. Slogging through mud while enduring the constant barrage of rain and wind had quickly taken its toll. The only comfort came from their nightly embraces when they pulled as much heat as they could from their fatigued, frigid bodies.

By the fourth day, the rain had soaked through their oiled cloaks and beneath them their robes hung heavy on them with wet. It was useless trying to keep dry, so they pressed on. Frost had begun forming on their cloaks as they slept. Every day they got closer to Jerusalem the colder it got.

It was late afternoon on the seventh day when they reached the top of a slope and looked down the hill to find the holy city’s high walls spreading before them. The tall towers of churches and the impressive domes of mosques beyond the towering wall were obscured by the haze of weather. Both men released sighs of relief as they urged their horses down the descending road. They passed by travelers on foot looking just as wet and miserable as they were.

Refugees, travelers with wares to sell, and people on their pilgrimages slowly made their way up and down the slope. Malik carefully weaved his horse around them. The landscape around the city gates was still scarred from the battle that had raged there not many months before and the rain had only served to turn it into a muddy mess.

Altaїr and Malik left their exhausted horses at the stables and took up their sodden travel bags. Malik glanced around to see their options for entering the guarded entrance. There were no white robed scholars in sight, but their dark rain cloaks would surely give them away if they blended in with them. Malik felt a tug on his elbow and looked to see Altaїr motioning towards a small group of cloaked travelers. Malik gave them a quick scrutinizing glance. They were pilgrims, coming to the holiest of cities to commune with whatever God they prayed to.

Malik was impressed at Altaїr’s restraint and suggestion of subtlety. Though as he thought upon it, the walls would be slick with water and climbing up them to enter the city would certainly prove to be far more trouble than it was worth.

Without a word, the two Assassins slipped among the worshippers, keeping their heads lowered as they passed the guards. They slipped into the streets and quickly made their way to the Bureau. Dropping into the sheltered patio was such a heavy relief that Malik almost considered dropping on the spot to take his rest. The cold had sapped his strength, and by the way his partner’s shoulders drooped, he felt the same.

The two men stepped heavily into the office and were struck by the heat that it offered. An old and seemingly ailing man looked up from a book he was poring over, staring at the two new arrivals with squinting eyes as if he could not quite see them.

“Greetings, Rafiq,” Altaїr offered gruffly, almost hastily. Malik could not blame him. He too wanted to get out of his sopping clothing and don his hopefully dry spare set of robes.

Instant recognition sprang to the Rafiq’s face. “Altaїr! I could hardly see you beneath all that mud.” He looked to Malik and studied him for a moment before a gentle grin pulled at his wrinkled cheeks. “And our new brother, Malik. I have heard of your ascent into the Brotherhood. Congratulations.”

“It is an honor,” Malik replied cordially, getting straight to business. “We come on behalf of the Crusaders taking up unwilling soldiers into their ranks. Have your contacts come up with any more information on this?”

The old man nodded, but waved it off like an annoying fly. “We have time to discuss this later. You are weary from your travels. Dry off before you drip all of the rain from Syria onto my floor!” He wheezed out a laugh and the two younger Assassins exchanged a dubious but also grateful look. The old Rafiq continued, “I will take your wet robes and dry them by my hearth.”

The two men did just that, clothing themselves in the second set of robes that each of them packed deep in their travel bags. After a much appreciated hot meal, the Rafiq gave them each a mug of tea and sat with them inside the office among the cushions that normally sat outside.

Malik soaked in the heat from his steaming mug with relish as he listened to the old man tell them the details of what his contacts had discovered. The man’s name was Rasul Qasim El-Amin and he had been suspected to be affiliated with the Templar Order since before Saladin gained control over Jerusalem. He gave the orders to retrieve men for the Crusader army, but he never attended the raids himself.

“My contacts have not discovered where the man lives or works. It will be up to you two to find this out. The raids happen in the early morning, before the sun touches the sky. In this way they take the citizen by surprise and drag them from their beds, defenseless.”

It was Altaїr who spoke next, setting his empty mug aside. “The best strategy would be to attend one of these raids and interrogate one of the soldiers.”

Malik looked to his partner, impressed at his plan. For once, he agreed on the course of action that he suggested, but it needed adjustment as did all of the man’s ideas. “We must do this with the utmost stealth. If the other soldiers get a hint that something is amiss, all will be lost.”

The old Rafiq nodded at this. “The situation is delicate. The whole city is on edge. Tension has been high ever since Salah Al’din took control. We are ill prepared as it is for this winter; more conflict within these walls will see to it that Jerusalem will not survive until spring.”

“Where do these raids happen?” Malik asked of the Bureau leader.

He sighed in response. “They happen at random, it seems. There are sometimes five raids in a week, and other times there are none. We only find out about them after the fact. They are stealthy, which makes your job all the more difficult.” Malik blinked. That certainly had not been the answer to the question he had asked. He had asked where, not when. The Assassin put the thought from his mind.

“We will open our ears to the streets tomorrow,” Malik decided, “listen to what the people have to say.”

“My contacts will do the same,” the Rafiq stated. He stood then, bidding the two Assassins a good night and retreated into his living quarters. As soon as the door was shut behind the old man, Malik let out a sigh that held within it his heavy fatigue of the long days of travel gone by. The deep cushions looked more than inviting. It was not long before he succumbed to their allure. Knowing that Altaїr would be quick to follow, he lay atop the cushions, their comfort feeling like clouds compared to the muddy ground that had become his bed for the past week.

He heard the other man stand and open the window to the hanging lamp that lit the room. They were plunged into darkness as he extinguished the flame, the moonlight outside illuminating large white snowflakes as they fell through the grate at the Bureau entrance. Malik shivered at the sight. It was going to be a cold night.

The cushions behind him shifted as Altaїr lay atop them. An arm was about his waist then, the man drawing his front flush with Malik’s backside. While he was thankful for the warmth, if anyone were to look on the two men they would not be able to deny the intimacy of the embrace. As if in defiance of this, lips began working at the back of Malik’s neck, the brush of Altaїr’s unshaven face against his skin sending chills that had little to do with the cold down his spine.

Malik was useless to resist when it came to Altaїr’s gentle caresses at his neck and behind his ears. After a long week with no sexual release, Malik could feel the sparks of desire emanating from the man behind him. He made no protest until the Assassin began a steady, smooth grind of his hips against Malik’s rear.

This was dangerous, and Malik knew it. He was torn, both lusting for the man and feeling the need to spurn him to keep them both away from the arms of danger. “Altaїr,” he said lowly in warning, but the motions only became stronger, more insistent.

“The Rafiq is as deaf as he is blind,” Altaїr breathed into his ear.

That would explain him answering the wrong question before. Malik bit his tongue to cut short a desirous gasp. “We are not protected by Masyaf here.”

“We protect ourselves,” the man was quick to answer, pressing a hand down Malik’s chest and abdomen, cupping around his already stiffening member. With a quick tug, his lacings were undone and that devious hand was clutching his shaft. He squeezed and pumped in time with his grinding motions, Malik losing himself in the onslaught.

Somewhere along the way Malik reached around and took hold of Altaїr’s own stiff cock, the man continuing to thrust into his clenching hand. Stifling their grunts and moans took far more effort than either had anticipated. Malik found himself hoping that what the other man had said about the Rafiq was true, that he was dull in the senses. It felt like such a long time since they had been in an intimate embrace.

While in Masyaf, they came together to share in intimacy almost every night. They were caught in the throes of sexual youth, never satisfied enough. The week had been a long one, and the release they desired came fast and furious upon them.

The heat built up between them, Malik relishing in the carnal intensity of it. It was not long until Malik reached his completion, spilling himself into Altaїr’s hand. In the aftermath of Malik’s orgasm, he had neglected Altaїr’s own pleasure.

Malik spun in the man’s firm grasp, pressing him back into the pillows and wrapping his lips around the engorged member. With a few swift motions, Altaїr too released himself. Malik took in his salty seed, drawing himself up and into his partner’s waiting embrace. The cold air pricked at the sweat that had accumulated in their intimate moment. In each other’s arms, the weather was forgotten, the hardship of the long week past all but a memory. They fell asleep in that tangled embrace, not caring if they were found. Whatever the morning brought was worth simply being in one another’s intimate, warming arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I realized that it snowed in Jerusalem during the winter, I had to write them going on a mission with all of the cuddling in the cold.   
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter: Spurned in Sanctuary! It might come a little early because I'll be at Anime Expo. I'll be dressed as a red cloaked traveler from Journey if you want to seek me out!


	16. Spurned in Sanctuary

What the next day brought was more rain. It quickly melted the buildup of snow that had fallen the evening before, turning the streets into muddy slush. The two Assassins had donned their hooded rain cloaks and took to wandering the wet streets. Even though it was yet another rainy day, life in the city carried on. The markets were still full of vendors selling their goods, the citizens running from one to the next to keep as dry as possible.

The information that the two men wanted would not be heard among this crowd, so they hurried on. Altaїr was scanning the people, all-seeing eyes gazing out from under his heavy hood. It still sent a chill down Malik’s spine whenever the man used his Eagle Vision, but he could not deny that it gave them an advantage in their search.

It was almost midday before Altaїr appeared to see something. He suddenly reached and grabbed a firm hold of Malik’s arm, pulling him to a stop and drawing him to the entrance to a long alleyway.

Knowing to stay silent, Malik did not question the action as they pressed themselves against the wall just outside of the alleyway. Voices echoed down the passageway, difficult to discern over the patter of rain on the rough cobblestone streets. Needing a better vantage point, the two Assassins swiftly climbed the wall, being careful to not slip on the slick stones. They perched on the roof edge just above the two conversing men, listening intently.

“Another one?” The first man asked, sounding more than exasperated at the request.

“It is on the far west side of the city. This will tell you the exact location. Make sure your men are ready this time.” There was an exchange, the two men shuffling a paper between them.

The two conversing men parted ways. Altaїr made to go after the one who had received the letter, but was stopped by a halting hand on his shoulder.

“That man is a leader. If he turns up missing, people will notice and sound an alarm.”

Altaїr appeared to take this information in. He nodded once. “Just the letter, then.”

“I am right behind you,” Malik confirmed. Altaїr silently crept along the edge of the roof after the retreating man, Malik close behind. They descended from the rooftop, walking amongst the people once more. Altaїr pushed forward, Malik cringing as he drew the attention of a few passerby in his haste. He reached the side of their target and just as quick, he turned away and returned to his partner’s side. He nodded once and the two dissolved into the crowd in search of a dry place to read of their destination.

They ducked under an empty market stall, Altaїr bringing out the small scroll of paper. They bent over it, looks of dismay instantly coming across their faces.

“It’s in code?” Malik cursed, taking the paper from Altaїr and studying it closer. “I would be impressed if this weren’t so inconvenient. It will take me a while to figure this out.”

“We should go back to the Bureau then,” Altaїr suggested and was met with a thankful nod of approval.

It indeed was a while before Malik began making sense of the written code. It was a smart move of the Templars to adopt such a habit. If Malik could crack the code, it was all for the better for the Assassins. With their code, the Templars were probably feeling secure enough in their secrets to not warrant extra security around passing written orders.

Malik stared down at the page of notes he had taken. As far as he could tell, the strange symbols made no logical sense. He had anticipated them to form up and to spell out a word or a name of a location. Instead, it was a sprawled mess. In his frustration, he cursed and tossed the scrap of parchment with the decoded mess away. It fluttered away and landed beside Altaїr, who was resting on the cushions beside the game board where Malik had been stooped and scrawling.

The Assassin took it up and glanced at Malik’s pen marks. “It’s a map,” he said plainly.

Malik’s head shot up from where he had been holding it in his palms. “What?”

Altaїr sat opposite him on the game board and spread the paper out between them. “For all of your knowledge of maps, I am surprised you did not see it.” His finger drifted over the lines, accentuating the pattern that they made. “These are streets. They are not words but they show the placement of the buildings. This larger symbol-”

“That is where the recipient was to meet with his men.” The layout was clear as day now that Malik saw it with a fresh perspective. It was a crude but somewhat accurate overview of the Middle District. “But he will not be there tonight with his men. There is no way he could have deciphered it while he stood there.”

Altaїr nodded at this. “There is bound to be someone there to oversee the operation. I am guessing the men meant to be there tonight are hired hands.”

“We will take this overseer by surprise, then. He will be waiting for reinforcements, but all he will get is us.”

The two Assassins rested for the remainder of the day, knowing that they would need to be awake and aware in the dark of night.

Snow was falling on the rooftops that the two men swiftly and carefully traversed just as the bells chimed twice, marking the time as two in the morning. The city was silent, sound muffled by the heavy falling flakes of snow. They came to the appointed house, crouching at the edge of the roof with the door just in sight. Here, they waited.

Two hours passed, marked by the droning chime of bells. Snow collected on their cloaks as they huddled together for warmth, still keeping a vigilant eye on the meeting spot. It was another hour before they saw any movement on the street.

It was a single man dressed as a Saracen guard, but a quick whisper from Altaїr, who could see him for what he truly was, proved him to be in disguise. He stopped in front of the door, glancing about. He was looking for his reinforcements, but the Assassins knew none would come.

They silently dropped down onto the street below and approached the man on light feet, using the shadows to cloak them. Even though his muscles were stiff from the cold, Malik was swift in his approach, Altaїr at his side. Before the man in costume could sense the imminent danger, the two Assassins were on him. They quickly stifled his shout of surprise, knocking him to the ground to land in the thin buildup of snow.

He struggled until Altaїr brought out his hidden blade and held it to his neck, the sharp edge barely cutting into his skin.

“Where is your master?” Altaїr’s voice was low and dark, his blade insisting on a quick answer.

The man swallowed, the action making the blade cut deeper into his flesh. A trickle of blood swept down his skin and disappeared beyond the chainmail shirt he wore. “I was told to not speak.” His voice was thin with fear.

“We can make you talk,” Altaїr insisted. To punctuate that threat, Malik brought out his short sword and pressed the point to the man’s gloved hand at the knuckle of his middle finger.

The man took in a sharp breath, eyes bulging. “I get my orders from El-Amin,” he hastily spat out, his body going rigid with fright.

“We know this,” Malik pressed his dagger point deeper into the man’s finger joint, the tip penetrating the thick leather. The man stifled a cry of pain, biting his tongue and stammering out his response hastily.

“I- I- I meet with him in the courtyard of the Rich District three times a week at noon. He- he will know if I am gone! He will ensure our cause is continued!”

“Not for long.” With that, Altaїr’s blade slid easily through flesh and muscle, the man’s lifeblood reddening the snow around his pitifully convulsing body.

Malik stood as Altaїr did. “We must hide his body. We do not want to sound the alarm before we find El-Amin. The morning rain will wash away the blood.”

Altaїr nodded and dragged the man’s corpse out of the open street. With Malik’s assistance, he stashed the body under a pile of rotting hay. Their task complete, the two men swiftly made their way back to the Bureau. They had a name, they had a location and they had a time. Now all they needed was the man himself.

\---

The rain the next afternoon was particularly heavy. The robes that the two Assassins had given to the Rafiq to dry were almost instantly soaked through, even though they wore their oiled cloaks. They sat upon a bench underneath an overhang to wait for their target to appear. Altaїr’s piercing gaze swept over the sparse patrons of the Rich District plaza. The bell towers tolled twelve times, marking the time as noon. Malik watched on as Altaїr’s brow furrowed. An hour passed with no sign of Rasul Qasim El-Amin.

Disheartened, the two Assassins retreated to the shelter of the Bureau. With nothing to do and no leads as to where to find their target, they were forced to the confines of the office. It was a good change to be out of the rain, but their robes from the night before still had not dried completely. Miserable, cold and damp once again, the men put their heads together and strategized, trying to find the best way to approach their target. The Rafiq was busy at his desk, leaving the two to ponder on their own.

“What if that officer last night was lying about the meeting time or place?” Malik had been worrying over this for the entirety of the day.

Altaїr shook his head. “Men rarely lie when their lives or their person are in danger. We simply must wait until an appointed meeting day comes around. The man said that they meet up three times a week.”

“Chances are that meeting will take place tomorrow, that is true,” Malik gave in return.

“Something still worries you,” Altaїr stated, drawing the gaze from his partner.

Malik shook his head. “I am only thinking over what we may have overlooked. The officer from last night will be found soon and if El-Amin is told of his death we will need to find a new way to meet him.”

“If it comes to that, we will change our plan. Until then, we should continue on with our current method,” Altaїr insisted. He sounded so sure when Malik was still skeptical.

“That is where I do not agree,” he countered. “If something changes, we must anticipate it and be prepared; otherwise we will find that El-Amin is out of our reach.”

Altaїr sighed, “You always look too far into these things. Nothing is as ever as complicated as you make it.”

Malik turned sharply on him. “Just because you cannot see the intricacies of this mission does not mean that they do not exist. You may be able to see much with your Eagle Vision, but there is still much that you miss.”

The argument continued on thus, each man presenting the other with another option, another side to the problem. While it did not grow heated, the two Assassins were by no means on good terms when the Rafiq interrupted with the promise of dinner. The two men remained silent towards one another, forcing the Rafiq to make strained conversation over their meal.

As they retired for the evening, Malik lay upon the cushions with his back turned on his partner. His stubbornness and his anger about the argument persisted and he wanted nothing to do with his partner. When Altaїr tried to bring him into his arms, as had become their usual position, Malik wordlessly spurned the embrace. Dejected, Altaїr took his rest away from Malik.

It was the cold that woke Malik late into the night. Even with the covers that the Rafiq had given the men, the winter chill still struck to the bone. Malik shivered violently, sorely missing the warm arms about him that he had become so accustomed to. He turned to find Altaїr with his back to him, curled into himself, arms wrapped tightly around his own shoulders. Malik hated how much he had come to rely upon the man, hated how much comfort he provided. But all at once he was overly grateful for his presence.

Putting his pride to the side just for the night, Malik shuffled to the man’s side, drawing a shivering arm about the other man and pressing his cheek to his back. Almost instantly Altaїr turned and pulled Malik into his arms. Malik looked up to find that even though Altaїr pulled him close, he was still deep in sleep. This brought a small reluctant but endearing smile to Malik’s lips.

For all of the man’s skill with the blade, for all of his proficiency at killing others, all he craved while he slept was something to hold onto. Malik fell asleep, content to know that he was the one providing that particular comfort, at least for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week, Assassins get shit done. Stay tuned for the next exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 17: Fight in Fortitude!  
> On a side note, haloo from Anime Expo! If you want to find me, I'm still going to be wearing my Journey cosplay. Red cloak with a bunch of gold decorations.


	17. Fight in Fortitude

The next day was just as dark and frosty as the previous had been. As the morning wore into the afternoon, the two Assassins donned their cloaks in silence and made their way to the plaza where they would hopefully see their target. They sat upon the same bench as the previous day, the midday crowd slim once more.

Neither spoke of what had transpired the evening before, or of how Altaїr found Malik in his arms that morning after he had pushed him away before they slept. It made Malik feel weak, to need to rely on his partner for such a simple thing as keeping warm. He disliked needing assistance with anything, always wanting to be independent.

On the other hand, Altaїr appeared to need him as well. If the man’s unconscious actions of pulling him into a firm embrace were any indication, Malik would have to say that Altaїr was just as in need as he was. This at least brought him a sense of satisfaction. If he were weak in needing warmth, then his rival was reciprocally weak in his need for someone to hold. It would appear that they were equals in this.

Malik was brought from his thoughts as once more the bells tolled noon. Just as the din of the chimes died down, Altaїr’s position shifted just slightly. Malik looked to where he kept his concealed stare fixed. A man not exceptionally dressed leaned against the gazebo in the center of the square. His shifty eyes told the two men all they needed to know. He was looking for someone, but the onlookers knew that his accomplice would never arrive. As the noon hour wore on, the man became increasingly vigilant in looking about his person, worry growing on his brow. He looked as though he were expecting everyone in the square to turn on him in an instant.

As soon as he stepped away from the meeting place, the two Assassins wordlessly stood and followed. The man was smart, taking only public roads and not passing through the dark alleyways. His steps grew longer, quicker as he neared his destination. His followers had to hurry to keep up, though never forgoing stealth in trade for speed. Their target slipped beyond the gates of a modest estate. With a look, the two Assassins decided upon the next action: climb, infiltrate, and assassinate.

The climb up the slick walls was treacherous, their handholds and footholds slipping. At least they were protected by the mist of rain from any wandering eye. They dropped into the small central garden and glanced about for a sign of their target. The place looked deserted. Altaїr swept his penetrating gaze about and nodded towards a door at the far end. It had been left just slightly ajar and when pressed, gave way to Altaїr’s hand.

The two Assassins stole quietly into the building. It was as modestly adorned as it was modest in size. This man had money, or his family did, but they chose to not flaunt it openly. It was a smart move in times of war by dissuading pillagers from sacking their possessions.

Stealing down the hallway, the two Assassins kept all senses open. There was the light step of someone trying to quickly and quietly run ahead of them. Rasul Qasim El-Amin had to be fearful for his life, knowing that there was someone after him. They followed the sound deeper into the estate. They climbed the stairs leading to the next level two at a time, closing in on their target. They came to two large, sturdy doors at the top of the stairwell. Knowing that El-Amin was just beyond them, they each took a handle and pressed forward.

The pair stepped into the dark room, a single beam of gray light piercing through a drawn curtain. It illuminated a single man standing before them. A chill ran down Malik’s neck. This was wrong. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Altaїr stiffening as well. They were both tight springs, ready to take action.

“The Assassins have come, I see,” El-Amin said lowly, voice quiet in the dark room. He almost appeared to not be the same man they had spotted in the plaza. Now coldly confident, he stood his ground with no fear. “I have been expecting you to find me for some days now.”

A scrape of metal on metal rang through the room. Altaїr and Malik both turned to find the double doors behind them shut and barred, two men with drawn swords turning away from their stealthy work. That would explain El-Amin’s sudden confidence. They were trapped. Both Assassins drew their swords, sweeping back to look at their target. He was now flanked by four men, two on each side, naked steel glinting in the beam of light.

They were outnumbered, surrounded and there was no escape within sight.

“No cryptic words for me, Assassins?” Their target flashed a shadowed grin. “Shame. You will die with only whimpers on your lips.”

With a motion, the men were on them. Malik spun to the men behind them, Altaїr facing those to the front. Back to back, they staved off the six men. Malik ducked and parried, slashing at one man before turning to the next. Just as he met blades with one man, the next was on him. These hired hands held no chivalry in their hearts, all attacking at once with no respect for the art of swordplay.

Malik was juggling three men at once and he was crumpling from the weight of the onslaught from the three different swords. Having no time to look to his partner, he figured Altaїr was faring the same. Just as he jabbed forward, his blade barely scraping the man’s flank, another man sliced at his legs. Malik stepped away just in time to save his muscles from being severed by the blow, but he did not come away unscathed. He turned on the other man, ducking a second attack.

Three was too many, Malik quickly found. These men were trained extensively in combat and were not afraid to fight dirty. A thrown knife quickly dealt with one of the men as it buried itself in his knee. His cry was lost in the tense, calculated chaos. Now with two men to deal with, Malik drew his dagger from the sheath strung on his back. With two blades, he blocked with one sword and attacked with the other. His opponents were unrelenting in their attacks, attacking him from any angle of opportunity. Malik twisted and bent around them, blocking their blades with his own and retaliating in full force.

The ring of steel took over the small room, the shouts of men deafening and adding to the confusion in the dark. A sword whistled just above Malik’s head and he spared a glance to Altaїr, who had also just missed being struck by the blow. Malik swept his foot out, sending one of his opponents crashing to the stone floor. The fallen man waved his sword wildly before him, its tip catching the end of Malik’s rain cloak and tearing it before slicing through the sleeve of Malik’s right arm. Malik ignored the bloom of blood as he bared down on the man. He was quickly silenced when Malik’s short sword plunged deep into his chest. The man with the knife in his knee was slowly recovering, limping back into the fight with a renewed vigor.

Malik turned from where he stooped over the dying man on the floor, preparing to strike at the man when another knife embedded itself in the man’s eye socket. He let out a deafening wail of surprise and pain, crumpling to the ground. Yet another move from Altaїr’s that he would have to thank him for. Malik turned on his third opponent just in time to catch a cleaving stroke. The force of it jarred his arm, but he kept a tight hold of his blade, striking out with the other he held. That stroke bit into the man’s stomach, ripping up into his chest and ending at his chin. He fell with a wet thud as Malik pulled his dagger back, dripping with warm blood.

All at once, they were enveloped in silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of the two remaining men.

“He escaped,” Altaїr breathed, wiping blood from his brow. Whether it was his own blood or the blood of those he had killed, Malik could not tell in the low light.

Malik wiped the blood from his blades and sheathed them quickly. “Can you find him?”

Those penetrating amber eyes swept the room. The man honed in on the curtain by the window. “This way.”

His Eagle Vision had found a trap door just beneath the heavy drapery, thankfully unlocked. Altaїr dropped soundlessly into it, Malik following without hesitation. If they did not catch Rasul Qasim El-Amin now, they never would find him again.

The passage was tight and with no light to go by, the Assassins stumbled their way through. They came to another door and burst through it, almost blinded by the light that flooded their eyes. They were back in the courtyard of the manor. Altaїr took off at a run, quickly followed by his partner. He led them back out into the streets, weaving around the few passerby who hurried to get out of the rain.

Altaїr turned a corner and stopped abruptly. Malik slipped on the slick stones in his haste to halt and almost barreled into his partner. “He is above,” Altaїr said quickly, breathlessly. He took off once again, quickly scrabbling up the side of a wall and hoisting himself up onto the roof. Malik was quick to follow and soon the two were racing across the rooftops. A figure in the distance stopped and stooped down, apparently catching his breath.

Two knifes were drawn from Malik’s pouch and he threw them with years of precision and experience behind the motion. A cry confirmed his accuracy, the figure falling from sight. With a few more bounds, the two Assassins came upon the man. He had fallen from the rooftop and was pitifully trying to drag a useless leg behind him, the other dagger protruding from his neck. They dropped down on either side of their target, easily catching their breath and approaching him slowly. He had no escape. The unconcealed fear in his eyes told them as such.

His words were strong, however, as he spoke around the blade in his neck. He almost seemed to not notice it, though it had pierced his artery. “So, the great Assassins do bleed.” Malik knew his own leg and arm had been cut and Altaїr also had not come away unscathed. The man before them was in a much worse state, though he did not seem to care.

Malik addressed the man, voice dark and threatening. “You have taken innocent men from their families to serve in your war.”

El-Amin snarled up at him, a fire behind his eyes telling of his conviction. “They need to serve, as they should! They did not fight to save their city when the Saracens attacked, so they must fight now.”

Malik crouched down beside their dying target, the wet stones around him becoming awash with a swill of red. “The city is weakened, its stores are low. Many will go hungry by the time winter is done. Creating conflict in this harsh winter when the Saracens are strong and the people weak will mean the destruction of the whole city. Do you not see how fragile it already is?”

The man’s gaze widened and looked towards the heavens, rain falling in his eyes. “We fight for God, we fight to keep order-”

“You mean to crush the people, to gain control over them in their weakened state,” Altaїr interrupted harshly from where he stood, towering over both his partner and their dying target.

El-Amin’s voice softened, losing the strength that he had held not moments before. Their time was running short. “Those who are in need always seek a higher power, whether that is God or their leader. We are their true leaders.”

“The Crusaders,” Malik clarified.

A grin spread across the man’s face, looking more skeletal by the second. “They are not entirely synonymous, nor are they exclusive of one another.”

Malik leaned forward, gripping a handful of the man’s shirt and shaking him. “What do you mean? Speak!”

But the man would never answer to anyone but to whatever god he knew. The glaze of death had come across his eyes and he would never again speak for his leaders.

Malik sighed and pulled the man’s eyelids over his dead gaze. He looked up to his partner, surprised to find a feather in his hand, offering it. Malik took it wordlessly and bloodied it, quickly placing it in a pouch at his waist to keep the rain from washing away the mark.

They stole down a dark alley, removing themselves from the site of death.

Altaїr’s voice cut through the silence as they stepped carefully through the shadowed passages. “I told you that you were over thinking this mission.”

Malik turned on him. “Do you deny that the outcome could have been worse?”

This the man shrugged off the question. “But it was not.”

Malik growled, coming to a stop and pulling the man’s shoulder to face him. “We were ambushed, Altaїr. He knew we were coming. You are beginning to make me regret taking you on this mission instead of another one of our Brothers.”

A scowl came over Altaїr’s face, the cut on his brow still slowly bleeding down the side of his face. “If not for me, you would still be wandering blindly around the city for a target that you would never find.”

Malik took hold of his partner’s robe just under his cowl and shook him once. “Arrogance,” he hissed.

“Is it not true?” He challenged in return.

That pulled a grimace from Malik. Of course it was true, but he would never admit it. “Be silent, Altaїr,” he snapped.

Altaїr quickly turned the tides, grasping the man’s shoulders between his palms and drawing him close, lips almost touching. “You need me, Malik.”

Malik retaliated immediately, shoving his partner against the wall none too gently. He had a mind to beat some sense into his partner with his fist, but in his blinding rage he ultimately decided upon a different course of action. He forced their lips together in a biting embrace, not at all gentle or compassionate. They pushed and pulled at one another, both trying to fight and simultaneously share passion. Hands grabbed close and pushed away with equal strength. There was anger and tension, but lust as well. There was a craving to be close, whether that was in the throes of combat or the intimate embrace of lovers.

The wall Altaїr was pressed against was wet with rain, but the two Assassins were thoroughly soaked through already. Paying this no mind, Malik pressed his knee between the other man’s thighs. Asserting his authority, he undulated his hips against the man, grinding him into the wall. Altaїr was receptive to this and aided in the desperate almost punishing motions. Malik growled as Altair bit at his neck, the man attempting to get the upper hand. He was trying to use the man’s weakness against him in this battle of flesh rather than blades.

Malik slipped a hand between them, taking hold of the man’s stiffening member through the layers of wet fabric. He grabbed Altaїr’s wrist with the other, pinning it above his head. His movements were still harsh, though the anger was slowly being overshadowed by lust.

Altaїr’s free hand smoothed down Malik’s belt, slipping beneath the sopping robe tails and beneath the hem of his pants. His cool hand smoothed over his ass, grasping and diving deeper. A finger prodded at his entrance. Not entirely new to this sensation by now, Malik bit his lip to stop from gasping in need. Sensing his upper hand, Altaїr spun the two of them and in one fluid motion had Malik pinned against the wall, his cheek pressed to the damp stone. Altaїr’s breaths came out in a swirl of mist beside his head as he continued to grind his hips against Malik’s ass. It only took a moment to pull his pants down just enough to gain access.

Malik cursed quietly to himself. The battle had been won and he was not the victor. He took the blow to his pride in stride, forgoing his anger for the time being in turn for carnal pleasure.

A question passed briefly across Malik’s mind, but was answered as Altaїr sought out his entrance once more, fingers now slick with oil. He would have found the man’s preparation laughable and had teased him about being so wanton so as to keep the lubricating oil on his person. As it was, Malik was so beyond rational thought that he simply allowed the man to finger him open, clenching his fists against the wall for support. He needed the man, to be sure. He needed him for many things, this act being only one of them. Malik needed him and hated him for it.

It was not long until the man eased his way inside him, Malik biting his tongue at the not unwelcome intrusion. The exhausting battle, the wounds gained from it and the chase were far behind them, far out of thought. The high walls of the deserted, dark alleyway provided enough protection from the now drizzling rain that it proved to be little issue.

Altaїr slowly worked his way in and out of his partner, clutching at his chest as he took him from behind. Malik’s soft grunting moans were lost upon the wind as he received the man’s thrusting sex. Ignoring the pain from the invasion, Malik focused on the pleasure that it also brought. The pain from his cuts he had received during the fight was but a phantom, long forgotten.

Malik was shoved harder against the wall as Altaїr increased his speed, grasping his gloved hand over his partner’s, pressing it to the wall. Their fingers laced, the space where they had both sacrificed a digit to the hidden blade matching on their clutching hands. The harshness of the thrusts increased, as if Altaїr were yet again claiming the man as his own, or teaching him a lesson. The slap of damp flesh on flesh echoed dully in the alleyway as thrusting hips met the man’s muscled ass. Malik clenched his teeth, receiving the man with a moaning growl. He bit back the pit of anger deep in his chest. He had planned on forcing his partner into submission, to make him know that it was not only he who needed Altaїr, but Altaїr who also needed Malik. Now that they were thus engaged, Malik was loathe to break them apart, now desperate for any kind of release.

They both were soon panting for air, still fatigued from the completion of their mission. The chill from the harsh winter was forgotten, heat building between them as their lusting actions continued. Malik’s neglected sex was taken up then, and he was hit by yet another onslaught of pleasure as it was stroked and pulled in time with the man’s thrusts. Altaїr bit at his shoulder, his sensuous grunts coming to a head as he came close to his finish. Thrusting now almost frantic, Altaїr clutched at Malik, shaking as he released himself into the man. Altaїr panted as he leaned his weight against his partner in the aftermath, hand still hard at work at Malik’s cock. He was quick to follow, biting back a cry of pleasure as he spilled his seed onto the wet wall he leaned against for support.

The two Assassins remained like that for a few long moments, pressed against the side of the alleyway and catching their breath. Malik’s legs felt weak, but he forced himself to remain upright. The ache from his partner’s rough thrusts in him was beginning to set in, as was the regret of doing such an act so recklessly in a place not secure in the least.

Malik slowly pulled his pants up, securing them with shaking fingers. Altaїr was doing the same, pulling away from pressing the man to the wall.

As soon as Malik had straightened, he was swept close to Altaїr once more. “You _do_ need me,” he breathed.

Anger seethed once more in Malik’s chest. He clenched his fist, fully intending on slamming it into the arrogant man’s nose, when his eyes fell upon the cut on his brow. The rain had washed some of the blood away and Malik could see that it was not small enough to ignore. After a quick look, he noted various tears in the man’s robe, adorned with spots of red.

He had suffered far more cuts than Malik had in the fight. Reckless. “And you need to stop being so arrogant. Those cuts need looking at.”

Malik shoved the man away and took a tentative step in the direction of the Bureau. The ache in his lower back became a sharp stab of pain and he grimaced. A hand was at his shoulder, but he quickly brushed it off. “I will be fine,” he answered the unasked question and continued on his way. Each step irritated the ache in his back, but he pressed on, Altaїr falling in step beside him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I made a poll on Tumblr to see if I should have these two have hot, sweaty sex in the dark, wet alleyway. The response was overwhelmingly yes, so there you have it! It was too good of a scene to not write.  
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter! More rain to come in Chapter 18: Passage in Peril!


	18. Peril in Passage

The road back to Masyaf proved to be just as miserable as the trip to Jerusalem. They fought through rain and sleet, their horses dragging their hooves through slick mud. It was slow going. Again, the only thing keeping the two Assassins from giving up and waiting the winter out was their nights locked in a shivering embrace to stave off the cold. Neither spoke for they both knew if they did, arguments would arise that would pull them apart. So they remained in silence for the seven day journey, taking what comfort they could from one another.

The morning of the final day of their journey brought them to a path carved into the side of a gradually sloping valley. The path here was a muddy mess, torn deep by the wooden wheels of traveling carts. The two Assassins rode with Malik in front, Altaїr close behind. The rain fell in sheets, obscuring all but the trail just before them. Malik braced himself against a gust of wind, howling through the canyon and whipping his torn, sopping cloak about his shoulders. He held onto the hood to keep it from falling, vaguely aware of the sound of clattering rocks.

It was the scream of a horse that made him turn. Through the veil of rain, it was all he could do to see the large shadow of a black horse as it disappeared beyond his sight, a flash of white on its flank telling of the man who fell with it.

The grip of fear struck hard and fast. “Altaїr!” His voice was lost in the howl of wind. Before he knew it, he was off of his horse and knee deep in mud and rocks, sliding down the slope the way the horse had done mere moments before. He continued his frantic calling of his partner’s name. The screams of the horse had been silenced and a new wave of dismay overcame Malik. He pressed forward, slogging through the mud and rivers of water flowing down the slope with a renewed strength.

He wiped the rain from his eyes, though it did nothing to help to see. Everything around him was mud and mist. “Altaїr!” He continued calling, voice whipping away in the howling wind. Despairing, he continued on. His only thought was to find the man who had become so integral to his life, no matter how much he despised the idea. He had no mind for his own safety, as the earth could start flowing down the canyon at any moment. All at once, a hand burst through the mud, taking hold of the tails of his robes. Relief washed over Malik like the clearest spring. He grabbed at the hand, then the arm. He found the rest of the man soon enough, struggling to remove the lower half of his body from the slick sludge.

Both men pulled on one another until Altaїr’s legs were free. The men stood, each still clutching to the other’s arms. They slipped in the slick mud, the surface of it threatening to begin sliding once again.

“The horse-” Malik called over the wind, but Altaїr had already begun pulling him back up the slope.

“He is lost,” Altaїr responded quickly.

Together they slipped and slogged their way back up to the path where Malik’s mare stood nervously away from the edge. The two Assassins stopped, catching their breath after the struggle. Both of their white robes were now red-brown, any inch that may have been dry before was now coated in a thin layer of mud.

A hand was placed on Malik’s shoulder. He turned to find those burning amber eyes staring at him from beneath the man’s heavy hood. It was a silent thank you, for the words would never pass by the man’s lips. Malik nodded before turning to his horse.

“We will have to ride double,” he commented as he hoisted himself into the saddle. He offered a hand to his companion, which was taken. Altaїr was soon seated behind him, his front pressed firmly to Malik’s back. The grip around him was perhaps too close, too tight, but he gave it no mind. Malik was simply too filled with relief at Altaїr’s successful rescue to mind the intimate closeness out in the open.

Weighed down by two men, the mare walked even slower over the slick road. Malik steered her well away from the edge lest it decide to give way again. The next time they may not be so lucky.

When they finally passed through the stone archway marking the border of Masyaf, Malik released a long suffering sigh of relief. He turned to his companion behind him and caught a glance of a crooked smirk, Altaїr’s face spattered and smeared with mud. Malik returned the expression, elbowing the man good naturedly. Before he could react, Altaїr was reaching out and grabbing a handful of his partner’s cowl. He tugged him backwards, their lips meeting in a brief kiss. It was gritty with mud and wet from rain, but it warmed Malik to his core.

He pulled away from the embrace reluctantly, unsure if there were any sentries scouting the road. “Later,” he promised softly, pushing the man away.

As if knowing their home was close, the horse picked up the pace and trotted with a newfound spirit up the sloping road. It was not long until the wooden gate loomed above them, the horse taking them directly to the stables. The stable hands nodded at them as they approached, eyes full of sympathy for their ragged, muddy appearance but equally concerned at the sight of only one mount. The two Assassins dismounted, taking a moment to stretch their tired muscles as they relayed what had become of Altaїr’s stallion.

Their arrival was a stark contrast to the conclusion of their previous mission. This thought was not lost upon the pair. As Malik turned towards the fortress high above, Altaїr was at his side. Malik placed a companionable hand on his partner’s shoulder, receiving a confirming nod in return. Wordlessly, they set out up the hill to convene with their Mentor. The faster they discussed their mission with Al Mualim, the faster they would be able to be warm and dry.

As they crossed the library to climb the steps to the Mentor’s study, they caught a few glances of dismay from the scholars. No doubt they had tracked in mud and were dripping rain water all over the otherwise clean marble floor. It could not be helped.

“It appears that it is indeed a harsh winter in the south,” Al Mualim said after observing the two Assassins’ appearance. Although the rain had washed away some of the mud, their usually immaculately white robes were still streaked with red-brown earth. “Has the forced entry into the Crusader ranks come to an end?”

Altaїr nodded at this. “We found and ended the one issuing the orders. Rasul Qasim El-Amin was his name.”

“He spoke of working for the Crusaders,” Malik added. “But he also mentioned something that I can only interpret as his confession that the Templars are working for the Crusaders. Is this known?”

The old man sat at his desk and laced his fingers under his bearded chin. He looked troubled. “We know that Robert de Sable has been in communication with the leaders of the Crusaders.” De Sable. Not much was known of him except that he was a fearsome fighter and one of the highest ranking leaders in the Knights Templar. He was said to be a giant among men. The Mentor addressed the two Assassins, staring at them with hard eyes. “Did he tell you anything else?”

Malik shook his head. “Only that he felt that the people should fight against Salah Al’din.”

“The Templars will spread lies to get their brothers to do their bidding,” Al Mualim said bitterly. “If that is all, then you are dismissed. You have had a long journey, so take rest.”

The two Assassins bowed respectfully and made their way out of the library, back into the pouring rain. Malik looked to his partner and got a questioning glance in return.

Malik sighed, knowing just what was on his mind. It was anything but chaste. “Later, Altaїr. I must go home to see Kadar.”

The partners parted ways, each seeking out their own residence. Malik’s house was dark when he entered, the curtains drawn shut. His eyes fell to a piece of paper on the game board and he went to it. In his brother’s messy scrawl, the message addressed to Malik was dated the previous day. Kadar had been sent on a mission to Alep and would return in a few days’ time. Malik sighed and set to work stoking a fire under the stove to prepare dinner. Soon, the house was warm, the air smelling of rich spices.

Malik had changed out of his soaking robes and into dry clothes. He sat on the cushions of the main room with a needle and thread, sewing the tear in his rain cloak that had suffered in the fight in Jerusalem. He could have sent it away to be mended, but Malik always liked fixing his own clothing. His robes gave him pride, showing off his high rank and telling everyone around him how hard he had worked to achieve it.

There was a steady knock on the door, drawing Malik from his work. Opening the door revealed his partner standing just out of the rain, staring expectantly in.

“What are you doing here?” Malik’s tone was not entirely inhospitable, but he still made no move to let the man in.

Altaїr stood, obviously waiting to be invited in. “I heard that Kadar is out on a mission.”

“And you expect me to provide you with company?” His desire for the man made the question have a slight tease at the core, though his exhaustion made it come out much more harshly than he wanted.

That earned him an indifferent shrug. “If you do not want me-”

Quick to stop him, Malik raised a halting hand and spoke up. “No, stay. I was forgetful and I made enough dinner for two.” He made a motion for Altaїr to enter, and he readily complied.

They ate in silence for a long moment, sitting on the cushions with their knees barely touching. They had grown used to confined spaces and the casual brush of one another had become second nature. It astounded Malik that he could be comfortable being this casually intimate with the man. For all of his years of having jealousy and animosity looming over his head, this change was stark to say the least.

Neither spoke of what had transpired on the muddy slope or of how Malik retrieved Altaїr from where he had fallen at the potential cost of his own person. Both had saved each other in equal measure on their journey. As partners this was expected and not something to give overt thanks for. It was relayed in the gentle glances they shared, in the soft brush of hands and later in the passionate tangle of limbs and lips.

Their conversation was sparse, superfluous to the unsaid communication buzzing between the two men. “This is much better than what they serve in the kitchens up at the fortress,” Altaїr commented, taking yet another hearty bite of Malik’s cooking.

“I had to provide for my brother, so I learned well,” Malik replied cordially.

The two lapsed back into silence, comfortable with not conversing as they ate. It had become the norm for them, as they spoke little if at all during their days of journeying through the rain. Each was exhausted from their travels, but still willing to be in the other’s company. Malik could feel his tiredness tugging at his irritability, but he forcefully pushed it aside. He had no energy to carry out any kind of conflict.

They finished their meal in due time, setting aside their bowls.

Altaїr leaned towards his partner with a questioning eyebrow raised. “Is it ‘later’ yet?”

Malik repressed the smirk threatening to overtake him. The man must have been trying his best to hold back ever since they had returned to Masyaf. “You think I will let you stay?” He teased.

The man crawled forward, eyes burning with only one desire. The advance sent a chill down Malik’s spine and he subconsciously leaned forward at the approach. “Would you make me go back out into the rain?”

Overcome with need, Malik could not help but slide a hand over the man’s shoulder, gripping fingers digging into the muscles there. “Do not put it past me. It is well within my capability.”

Those amber eyes seared through him. “But not in your desire.”

“Not at all,” Malik breathed onto those tauntingly close scarred lips. He pulled away reluctantly and stood, Altaїr quick to follow suit. Malik snuffed out the lamps that lit the room and took up the remaining candle. He pressed past the door leading to his modestly adorned bedroom. Small as it was, it felt cozy. When Altaїr drew himself in, the walls seemed to close in further around the two men. The candle sent dancing shadows across the tapestries draped over the plaster walls, to help insulate from the cold.

There were hands at his waist, lips at his neck. Malik was barely able to set the candle down before he was overtaken, the wandering and groping hands making him lose all cognitive thought. Malik retaliated in kind, turning and fighting with the man to gain more access to skin. The struggle was meek between the two, neither putting much muscle into it. Neither had much energy to give after their week of travel and hardship.

Malik was the one to finally press the man down onto his bed; most of their clothes open or off at this point. He pressed breathy kisses onto the man’s bare chest, careful to avoid the healing scabs from the battle in that dark room of the manor in Jerusalem. Altaїr grabbed at whatever skin he could, encouraging the soft touches.

The wanton gropes and caressing kisses slowly softened, waves of tiredness overtaking the two Assassins. Malik came to rest his head against the other man’s chest, encircled in his strong arms that held him so gently. One arm left the embrace and the candle was snuffed, plunging the room into darkness. A blanket was pulled over his shoulders then, cutting off the slight chill that still hung in the room. The rain fell softly beyond the covered window as the two men succumbed to the exhaustion of the past days of travel, enveloped in each other’s protective and comforting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has an alternate title: That One Time when Altaїr Fell in the Mud.
> 
> Psst... you guys should keep leaving reviews and stuff. They always make my day!
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting chapter: Chapter 19, Sinister in Suggestion!


	19. Sinister in Suggestion

Two brothers regarded one another, the elder more than a little surprised to see the younger home so soon. In fact, he was more stricken with panic than surprised. Three days had passed since Malik and Altaїr had returned from Jerusalem. It was early morning and Malik had returned from spending the night in Altaїr’s bed. He had opened the door to his house to find Kadar eating a hearty breakfast in the main room of their house. Malik had tried to make it seem as though he had woken early that morning and he was returning now, but judging by the quirk to Kadar’s eyebrow, his little brother knew better.

Kadar’s tone was carefully neutral when he spoke. “When did you get back?”

Malik sat opposite him and picked a bite off of his plate. “The day after you left, if the date on your note is correct.” It had only been three days. Malik had thought it would have taken at least two more for his brother to return, especially in this weather. Perhaps the rain was not so harsh in the north. “You got back just now?”

“No, last night.” Kadar paused a moment, appearing to think over his words before he voiced them. “When I returned, you were not in your bed. Where were you?”

Malik caught himself before he flinched at the accusatory statement. A string of curses ran through his head as he quickly tried to cover his tracks. “I was nowhere.”

A knowing smirk suddenly spread across his younger brother’s cheeks. It was as if he had been waiting for the opportunity to confront him about this. “Were you out practicing in the rain or were you visiting someone?” If he had been practicing all that time, he would have been much wetter and spattered with mud from the sparring field. Malik was quite dry, as he had only just run from the residence of his partner back to his own house. This detail was not lost upon Kadar and Malik knew he would be unable to dissuade his brother from prying.

It took all of Malik’s composure to keep himself from turning on the spot and leaving the conversation. He should not know, _could_ not know. “Your eyes must have deceived you.” It was a poor counter and both brothers knew it.

Kadar rolled his eyes, annoyance flaring up. In that motion Malik saw some of himself. “You think I have not heard you sneaking off late at night? I am not so unskilled that I cannot hear it.”

“It is not your business,” Malik said definitively, averting his gaze as he spoke.

His brother was insistent. “Not my business that my own brother has a secret lover?”

Malik snapped. He glared daggers at Kadar and was met with a challenging, smirking stare. “ _It is not your business_.”

“What is her name?” At that question, Malik stood abruptly, unwilling to continue with the conversation. Kadar was having altogether too much fun, only adding to Malik’s embarrassed fury. “Is it Fatima’s daughter?” Not answering, Malik turned and stalked out the front door.

Flustered and at a loss, he made his way up the hill to the library. He had gotten a lot more information from his students to put on his new maps while he had been away in Jerusalem. The past days had been spent catching up on this work.

He set quill to paper, trying to put the disastrous encounter with his brother from his mind. He had been so _careful_ to be quiet, and now he could not help but feel that he was in jeopardy. He hated lying to his brother, hated withholding information from him. But this was for the good of not only Kadar, but for the safety of both Malik and Altaїr. Their acts may not be punishable by death in Masyaf, but that would not stop others from doing the duty themselves. Malik growled softly to himself, pressing a palm to his forehead. No matter how hard he tried, the thoughts still flooded in.

A presence approaching from behind drew his attention. He turned just as a voice made itself known, soft in the damp haze of the library.

“Al-Sayf,” he was addressed by a man with a cruel twist to his brow.

“Abbas,” Malik greeted him cordially. There was a veiled threat to the way the man carried himself. Just the air around him felt slick with mistrust.

“I come to you as a friend with a warning.” Abbas was right to the point. Malik raised a questioning brow. As the man continued, Malik’s stomach dropped deeper and deeper in apprehension. “We once had a common enemy, which you seem to have turned into a friend. I should warn you to not trust Altaїr.” The man suddenly turned a new leaf and seethed, fists clenching at his sides. “He is a liar.” Malik grew more wary by the second as the man continued. “He has tried to use his words and actions to further his own cause, and he will not hesitate to do so again. Stay clear of him, Al-Sayf. To be in his company is to invite treachery.”

Malik regarded the man standing before him, letting his words sink in. His response was carefully neutral. “Why are you telling me this, Abbas?”

“We are brothers in arms, Malik.” His name on the man’s lips sounded like honeyed poison.

“And so is Altaїr,” Malik countered. This brought a renewed flash of anger to Abbas’s eyes.

“I am not so sure,” he said darkly. “Take my advice and stay away from the man.” With that, he departed abruptly, leaving Malik with far too many questions on his mind. He set back to work with even more thoughts threatening to overtake him.

It was late afternoon when he finally gave up trying to be productive. Knowing that Altaїr would be done with his daily training, he set out down the hill towards his partner’s abode.

He simply pressed past the door and found the man lounging among the cushions spread about in the corner. Altaїr cracked an eye, a brief smile passing his lips.

“You are early today,” he observed lazily, not bothering to sit up. “Couldn’t stay away for long, could you?”

Malik fidgeted where he stood. “Shut up,” he teased half-heartedly.

This drew the full attention of the other Assassin. He sat up, brow drawn together. “Something troubles you.”

Sighing, Malik ran an agitated hand through his short hair. “I had a troubling conversation with Abbas today.” As soon as he said the name, Altaїr’s expression became stony.

“What did he want?”

“For me to stay away from you,” Malik answered shortly, softly. He sank to the cushions with a sigh, sitting opposite his partner. His eyes locked onto those calculating amber eyes that saw far more than they ought. “He called you a liar.”

“That is nothing new,” Altaїr said dismissively. “He has been calling me that for years.”

“It has to do with the fight you two had in the sparring ring, does it not?” Altaїr scoffed at this, turning his gaze without answering. “I was there that day,” Malik continued. “You kept telling Labib that he was trying to kill you-”

“He was,” Altaїr cut him off softly.

Malik shook his head. None of it made sense. “Why would he want to? Why was he calling you a liar?”

“He was trying to protect the honor and memory of his father,” Altaїr replied quietly, his gaze far away, looking upon a distant memory. After a long moment, he brought himself back and Malik felt those eyes settle on him once again. “His mind is living in a fantasy and his words hold no bearing. Do not let him trick you into turning to his side.”

A flash of a smirk crossed Malik’s cheeks. “You think I would turn against you?” His question was only half teasing, the other half quite serious.

The man cocked his head arrogantly. The gesture irked Malik, but he pushed the annoyance away. “I don’t think you could if you tried,” Altaїr replied smoothly, reaching out and hooking a finger underneath the wide belt about Malik’s waist. He tugged him forward and their lips met, the touch lingering and reassuring. They both pulled away after a moment, Altaїr again gazing into Malik’s eyes, digging to see what else was beyond that exterior of poise. “Something else is on your mind.”

This brought a deep sigh from Malik. “Kadar is back. He arrived last night.”

Altaїr shrugged. “You say that like it is a bad thing.”

Agitated, Malik sat back and put his head in his palm. “My brother knows that I have been sneaking out at night.”

That crooked smile was back on the man’s scarred lips. “I told you that he has keen hearing. So what’s the problem?” The man was not getting the gravity of the situation, or else he was baiting Malik.

“So he thinks that I have a _lover_ ,” Malik practically spat the word. It was in no way how he would describe their relationship.

Altaїr cracked a broader grin and leaned forward once more, placing a kiss just below Malik’s ear. “Don’t you?”

“A _female_ lover,” Malik clarified sharply, but his resolve was quickly melting at the soft proceedings of the other Assassin.

The man’s voice was breathy by his ear. “So tell him.”

Malik steeled, tongue sharp. “Oh, yes. Tell him that his own brother is intimate with his idol, whom I warn him to stay away from at every chance. That is bound to be reassuring and non-hypocritical.”

Those scarred lips were close to his own once again, the soft voice reassuring. “You worry too much, Malik. You just need to get quieter at sneaking out,” he smirked and pressed Malik back onto the cushions, touches advancing, “or let me sneak in.”

Still caught up in his dilemma, Malik simply allowed the actions. There was still a slight annoyance that he could not rid himself of. Altaїr was pressing this away as a frivolous issue when it truly did worry Malik. “That would prove to be much more disturbing on his part. We are not exactly silent.”

Altaїr’s voice was heady as he whispered into his ear. “I could make you silent.”

Malik rolled his eyes as the other man’s hand continued wandering, groping at his thigh. “You are insufferable.”

“Is that a yes?”

He pursed his lips in annoyance at that. Malik took a hold of the man’s robe and pushed him away from his continued caressing of lips at his neck. He glared warningly at the smirking man before him. “If you ever sneak into my home, I swear I will not still my blade.”

Altaїr shrugged in submission, never losing that air of arrogance. “To keep your secret or to tell is up to you. It makes no difference to me.”

“This one is best kept from him,” Malik replied decidedly. Now taking a more active role, he flipped the man back onto the cushions, assuming control. Malik thought upon the decisions he had made that revolved around this man as he sought out every point on his body that made Altaїr bite his lip and moan wantonly.

He was arrogant, fool hearty, reckless at times, and he deserved a good beat down on a regular basis to satisfy Malik’s annoyance towards him. But he was also strong and held to his convictions. He was a tough one to crack, but once past his barriers and after filtering through his conceit, he was overwhelmingly earnest. Those moments were few and far between and Malik had to brace against his hubris on a regular basis. But when he was able to break through those airs, he found the man underneath to be one he could rely upon and care about.

Perhaps he did have a lover after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time on Silent Discourse, the first time jump! Stay tuned for Chapter 20: Foreseen in Foreboding!  
> I also added crap in the about me section in my profile if you guys want to stalk me or something. Or form a posse. Whatever floats your boat.


	20. Foreseen in Foreboding

“Where have you been?” Malik whispered harshly to his partner, who was silently creeping towards him in the darkness of night. Campfires spread out below them in between a forest of tents as the two Assassins perched on the top of the wall surrounding the city of Acre.

In the dark, Malik could barely see the spatter of blood around the man’s wrist, red dripping from his hidden blade. He had killed again. Malik bit back a scathing comment. The man had become less choosy when it came to who he killed and who he used stealth to get by. It was getting worse as time wore on; no matter how much Malik reprimanded him for it, Altaїr continued to do what he would.

A year and a half had passed them by in a rush of missions and travel. They were together on their missions as often as they could be and when they were not, the reunion was worth the time spent away.

They had been sent on a simple mission to Acre: to oversee the safe shipment of goods into the city. Food and supplies had been continuously stolen or marked off of the shipping ledger without getting to the recipient. It had appeared to be a simple task – too simple to have two high rank Assassins dealing with it. Though upon investigating the city, they had found where the supplies had been going and indeed that predicament did call for two highly trained men.

There was an army standing beyond the walls and it was preparing to march.

“There is no way to get into the encampment without being detected,” Altaїr told his partner, easily sidestepping the question that had been asked. “They have very watchful sentries posted all around its borders.”

Malik narrowed his gaze, frowning at the man. By now he knew what to expect and it was increasingly undesirable. “I assume that is whose blood is on your blade.”

“They will not find his body,” Altaїr replied, as if that made potentially causing a mass upheaval within the gathered army worth the death of one sentry.

 “Altaїr, this army will not be taken down by a single man killing its leader.”

“We do not even know who their leader is,” Altaїr agreed. “They appear to be Saracens, but nothing they have done matches the battle strategy usually used by them. In that regard, I would think that they were Crusaders.” Altaїr thought this out loud as he gazed down on the expanse of campfires and tents. There had to be at least two hundred of them, with each tent holding two or more men. It was an army put together to lay siege and occupy whatever their destination was.

Malik shook his head, putting the man’s reckless action aside for the moment. “If they were Crusaders, then the Saracens in the city would be preparing to defend it. Everything is quiet, as if they do not even know that the army is just beyond this wall. I fear there is something more going on here, but we have no way of infiltrating the camp to get more information.” He thought upon the sparse information that he had gleaned that day in the streets of Acre and relayed it to his partner. “The Saracen guards know nothing of the army, or they are reluctant to speak of it. Something is keeping them quiet.”

Altaїr nodded at this new information. “We will have to follow the army to see where it is going. When we get back to the Bureau we must write to Al Mualim and tell him of this.” This was agreed upon and soon the two Assassins were leaping from rooftop to rooftop by the light of the sliver of a moon. It was always a race to get back to the Bureau, to see who could best the other in a trial of agility. The two had grown used to testing one another, improving their skill one trial at a time. They were just as equally matched as they had always been, both learning at the same rate.

They arrived at the Bureau rooftop entrance at the same time. They caught their breath, flashing one another challenging smirks. Altaїr pulled Malik into a brief kiss, seeming to congratulate him for yet another tie. In response, Malik pulled him in tight, drawing their lips together once again.

It was biting, Malik still holding a slight annoyance for the man’s actions. The two men drew away from the embrace, Altaїr with a questioning brow raised. “What was that for?”

“For keeping up with me, what else?” Malik replied with a half truth. The truth was that when they were not in Masyaf, their freedom to share in intimacy was constantly in jeopardy. It was only in moments like these, when they were cloaked in night, that Malik felt safe enough to share in an embrace with his partner. No matter how much the man annoyed him or went against his ideologies, Malik found it impossible to resist his bodily urges towards him.

It was a dangerous game that they played, stealing kisses in territory where the action could mean a sentence of death. The two men brought death to others on a regular basis, though. If they were caught by anyone outside the Brotherhood, they had agreed early on that the death of one was worth keeping their own lives. If they were caught by one of their Brothers, however, they would have to take a different course of action. This had spurred a continuing argument between the two men that never was resolved.

“I was holding back so that you would not feel bad for losing,” Altaїr replied, a joking quirk to his lips. “If I have to keep holding back for you, why are you here?” The jest was not lost upon Malik and he met it with an amused smirk.

“I have to keep an eye on you, lest you seek out another bed to warm.”

Altaїr seemed slightly taken aback. “You think I would?” It was half teasing, half uncertain.

Malik drew their lips so they were almost touching, tone more than a little seductive. “I have no doubt.”

“You force me again to prove you wrong, as in all things,” Altaїr breathed in response, hands groping. It was lucky the moon was so dark, for if anyone could see them they would have been unable to explain away their position.

“Good,” Malik growled and they were lost in one another’s biting and needy mouths.

They pulled away from one another, neither satisfied with that simple exchange. It would have to do, however. They dropped into the Bureau and made their way into the office, lit with a single lamp for their return. It was empty, the Rafiq already in his quarters. The two Assassins approached the pigeon coop but fell short of it as a realization came upon them.

“The birds are asleep.” Malik could have kicked himself for not thinking of that detail. “We will have to send the message tomorrow.”

Altaїr shrugged, stretching as he yawned. “There is nothing we can do until then but sleep as well.”

Soon the two were stretched out on the cushions beneath the covered patio, stars spreading out on the dark sky beyond the grate. They assumed their usual sleeping position while away from Masyaf, both facing the other with arms draped over the other’s waist. It was a loose embrace, enough to satisfy their need for closeness but far enough away that if one heard someone approach, it would only require a swift turn to break away.

\---

“It’s gone.”

Those two words dropped like stones into Malik’s stomach. “What do you mean, ‘gone’?” His tone was harsh, the informant shrinking away just slightly as if he were the one to do the wrong. Perhaps he had, Malik did not know.

“By the look of it, they left last night,” the young man continued. He could not have been over fourteen, a tall and straggly thing.

“Who was to keep watch last night? Why did we learn this just now?” The Rafiq’s tone was by far more civil than Malik’s, seeming to give the benefit of the doubt to the young man. Altaїr simply sat, waiting for the information. They were all gathered in the Bureau office, the hot noon sun driving them indoors.

The young informant stuttered and stumbled over his words, his mutterings incoherent. At this Altaїr swept to his feet in a silent fluid motion. The youth flinched and turned in his direction, assuming the worst was to come for the news that he brought of the army’s disappearance.

The Assassin paid no attention to the young man, addressing Malik and the Rafiq. “It does not matter who is at fault right now. We must follow the army to see where it is marching.” He then turned to the informant. “Were there signs showing which way it was headed?”

The youth nodded eagerly, the fear dissipating for the moment. “North.”

“North?” Malik pondered over this. “Where could they be going? Damascus, Tripoli?”

The Rafiq shook his head, at a loss as well. He turned to the two Assassins. “You must depart at once to catch up to them. I will send another bird to Masyaf with this update.” With that, he turned to his desk and began scrawling a message. Malik turned to Altaїr and they wordlessly agreed on a course of action, leaving the office and gathering their travel bags.

Soon they were outside the high walls of Acre. They turned north and instantly knew that their path would be an easy one to follow. The army left the landscape scarred and trampled where they marched, consuming all in its path like some ravenous creature.

They rode until night fell, still seeing no sign of the marching army but what destruction lay in its wake.

The two Assassins made a quick camp, the fire small in case the army had scouts. It was a precaution that Malik had insisted on. They did not know how far away the army was; it could be just up the road, but there was no way of knowing. It was dangerous to travel on horseback at night with only a sliver of the moon to light their way. They had no choice but to stop their pursuit until sunrise.

The next day brought them upon a continued destroyed road. The compacted, dusty path had been torn up by hundreds of boots and horse’s hooves. What foliage had grown there had been either trampled or cut away. Trees had been cut and hauled away by the army to be used in building siege weapons.

Malik’s suspicion continued to grow when they reached a fork in the road. The one on the left would lead to Tripoli on the coast and the one on the right cut inland towards Damascus. It was the road to the north along the coast that was torn and ravaged.

“They continued north,” Malik mused, then cursed. “I wish we knew the allegiance of this army or at least who commands it.”

Altaїr pulled his horse towards the torn road ahead. “There is nothing to do but to continue. They were a half day ahead of us and there is still no sign of the army yet. We must move faster if we are to catch up to them.”

With that, they continued on with all due haste. As night fell upon the dry landscape, the two Assassins thought that the trail had become fresher. The army was moving very quickly, most likely traveling far into the night with the aid of lanterns and torches. While Altaїr and Malik moved faster during the day on horseback, they could not travel at night, especially with the moon at its darkest. Regardless of this, they were slowly catching up, it seemed.

The fourth day of travel came upon them with still more destroyed road ahead.

They pressed on until nightfall, still seeming to not come closer to the barreling army ahead.

They slept uneasily, holding one another close to keep off the chill of what the next day might bring. They were awoken well before the dawn, however.

All at once, they woke and lunged from their comfortable embrace, dodging the blade that cut through the night towards them. The two Assassins were on the attacker at once, Malik restraining his arms and Altaїr pressing his engaged hidden blade to his throat.

The man’s surprise at his swift apprehension quickly melted into fury. “You sleep as a man and wife,” he spat, glaring daggers at the man in front of him and trying to twist from Malik’s grip. He was trying to shock the two into giving in just enough for him to slip away. It was a desperate move and was wholeheartedly ignored.

Malik only twisted the man’s arms further. “You are a scout of the army. What is your affiliation?”

The scout again tried to wrench himself away, but found the arms restraining him unrelenting. He spat at Altaїr, the phlegm landing in the dry dust at his feet. “Are all you Assassins filthy sodomites?”

Malik’s stomach dropped. This man would not live to pass on his observation that night. Turning the subject away from more personal matters, he turned to the newly revealed information gleaned from that comment. “You are Templars. Where are you headed?” He needed no answer, for he already knew.

A cold smile crossed the scout’s face, barely discernible in the dark of night. “They will have broken through your walls far before you arrive.”

The two Assassins exchanged a look, brows drawn. Altaїr was quick to silence the scout, drawing his blade across the man’s throat in one easy motion. Malik in turn dragged the body away and out of sight, leaving it behind a shriveled shrub.

Altaїr was waiting for him when Malik returned, his arms crossed and in deep thought. “They are marching on Masyaf,” he said darkly.

“They will get there by tomorrow morning if they are traveling by night.” Malik cursed sharply. “We will not return until the afternoon and that is if we travel our fastest.” He paced, steps quick and stiff.

Altaїr’s response was reaffirming. “Masyaf is strong. They can withstand an army without us.”

Malik ran an agitated hand through his hair. “They do not know it is coming for them. I just hope they did not intercept our messenger pigeon.”

The other Assassin sighed, placing a hand lightly on Malik’s shoulder to still his pacing. He did so, allowing Altaїr to push him in the direction of their sleeping mat. “There is nothing to do now but rest and gather our strength.”

Malik clenched his teeth, shoving the man’s hand from his shoulder. “How can you think of rest when-”

Altaїr never let him finish. He bodily grabbed Malik and before he could respond had wrestled him to the ground atop their sleeping mat. Malik struggled against the grip about him until one word made him pause.

“Malik.”

The tone was both commanding and calming, immediately stilling him. He took in a deep breath and exhaled, using it to bring down his racing heart. The arms about him lost their tight grip, but remained in place. Altaїr buried his nose in Malik’s short black hair and breathed with him.

The clench of worry never wore off, Malik’s senses hyperaware after their discovery. He found himself drifting off as he listened to the soft noises of the night, at first trying to keep sleep at bay. Eventually he succumbed, enveloped in his partner’s soothing, protective embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, first time jump!
> 
> You got this chapter bit early because I'm leaving for San Fransisco tomorrow to go to GaymerX! For everyone who doesn't know, that's a convention for us peeps who happen to be queer gamers. If you happen to be going then WOAH small world! I'll be cosplaying as Kid Loki and I'll also be volunteering and such.
> 
> Next time on Silent Discourse, there will be BLOOD. Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment, Chapter 21: Siege in Stronghold!


	21. Siege in Stronghold

The gates lay in ruins among strewn bodies both with red sashes and red crosses. The two swiftly approaching Assassins could hear the din of battle over the pounding of their horses’ hooves as they galloped up to the broken gates, dodging bodies left and right. What they saw before them both brought horror and fury to the two men.

Houses were burning; citizens lay where they were slaughtered in the street. Fallen Brothers lay beside the men they themselves had killed before being overwhelmed. This was not a siege. It was a purge.

The two quickly dispatched a man attacking two of their Brothers. Altaїr dismounted to help one of the men to his feet, but another worry drove Malik onward.

“Altaїr,” he called to his partner as he too dismounted. “I must find Kadar.” Without waiting for a response, Malik drew his sword and broke into a run. He dodged around the corpses of fallen men and women, heading towards the sound of fighting.

He found the first of many battles soon enough. Four Brothers were up against five Templar knights, though the Assassins were of a low rank and the knights fully armored. Without breaking pace, Malik drove his sword into the back of the first knight. He only stopped to withdraw his bloodied sword, turning to the next knight. He took him by surprise as well, cutting through the back of his neck. He could feel the grind of bone as he sliced.

The other three Templars turned when they heard the new commotion. One was brought down by his Assassin opponent as his attention was averted, but the other two made for Malik. He was quick to dispatch them, fueled by the fear for his brother’s life.

The Assassin standing before him looked at him with wide, horrified eyes. He was young enough to never have seen a battle before this one. No matter how much the younger Assassins were told of the horrors of war, nothing prepared them enough to live it.

Malik recognized the young man from looking upon Kadar’s training lessons. They were of an age, in the same rank. “Have you seen Kadar?” Malik asked him insistently, keeping the worry from his voice.

“He was- he was,” the young man stumbled over his words, shaking.

“Speak!” Malik barked at him. This appeared to knock the youth out of his daze.

“I saw him in the East quarter,” he replied quickly.

Without giving any sort of acknowledgment, Malik turned on the spot and headed up the hill to the east. He heard more sounds of battle and ran faster.

He came upon three men locked in battle. Two Templars and one man wearing the short gray robes of a low rank Brother. Malik’s chest clenched. He would recognize that man anywhere.

In a cool and calculated move, Malik drew his blade across the back of one of the knight’s knees. With a cry, the man fell forward, but was caught by Malik’s unrelenting hand. Looking already to his next target, he drove the tip of his sword down behind the man’s neck and into his chest cavity, bypassing the chain mail he wore. Leaving his sword sheathed in the man to be retrieved later, Malik sprung upon the next. He engaged his hidden blade and was upon the man before the Templar could turn to see what had come of his comrade.

As the man fell, Malik turned to his brother, who stood with his blade in a shaking hand. His eyes were wide, brow drawn. His robes were spattered with blood. He looked to have been fighting for hours and he probably had.

Malik drew Kadar into a fierce, crushing embrace, allowing himself a brief wash of relief. He was alive.

He eventually released his brother, staring into those eyes that were the perfect reflection of his own. “Kadar, what has happened?”

His brother shook his head. “It happened so fast. They came upon our walls early this morning. I was in the practice ring when we heard the bell toll. We were caught off guard and the Templars seemed to know just how to break down our defense. When they began invading the village, they called us all down to defend it. It’s useless, Malik!” He began shaking again and he dropped his sword. “They have gotten into the fortress and they have hostages.”

Malik grasped his brother’s shoulders. “Do you know who is leading the army?”

“I overheard some of our men saying that he was one of us, but now turned traitor.”

Malik clenched his teeth. That was how the army knew exactly where to go and exactly how to strike. They kept the location of the canyon leading to the gates a secret to anyone outside the Brotherhood. This army had gone directly to the source. “We must defend Masyaf as best we can. Fight by me, Kadar.”

With that the two brothers, swords in hand once more, continued up the hill. They came upon a raging battle, their Assassin Brothers outnumbered by Templar soldiers. They added their blades to the fray, felling their enemies as their own Brothers fell as well. With the extra help, the Assassins prevailed in that one battle. The still able men continued up the path. Malik was about to follow when a young man sitting against a wall caught his eye.

The recognition burnt a hole in Malik’s chest. He knew the young man, but he also knew the stone white face of the limp and bloodied man he held in his lap.

Malik turned to his own brother and motioned for him to follow the other Assassins.

His approach was not noticed by the youth and still not when he knelt by him. As he reached a hand out to place on his shoulder, the young man moved with the feral speed of one frightened for his life. Malik was barely able to lunge back far enough to miss the blade that blurred between them. In a swift move, Malik caught the wrist that held the short, curved knife.

Those shocked, grief stricken eyes turned up towards him, recognition passing through the young man’s gaze. He dropped the blade, suddenly overcome with a chilling pallor, chin slumping to his chest.

“Naji,” Malik said softly, trying to bring his young student from his daze.

Haunted eyes turned towards him once again, the voice uttered a mere ghost. “It is no longer just rain.” He was so lost, voice so thin. Malik’s heart felt heavy with those words, a reflection of the lesson he had given the two on that rainy morning only a year and a few months previously.

“Be strong, Naji.” Malik continued relaying calmness to his pupil. “Remember your training. Stay alive, keep fighting. There will be a time for mourning, but it is not now.” He gripped the young man’s wrist more firmly and was met with no resistance. He stood and pulled Naji to his feet, the limp body of Tariq rolling heavily to the ground with a sickening thump. A pang of grief struck Malik, but he could not dwell on it.

Swallowing back a moan of his own despair, he focused on the wavering youth before him. “Fight beside me, and remember that we not only fight for our home and for our Brothers, but for the peace of humanity.” He felt like he was reassuring himself as much as his student. Naji was still looking mournfully at the body of his comrade and friend, seeming to not hear. Malik placed a steadying hand on his shoulder and continued. “Do not let his death cloud your judgment. He would want you to be strong.”

This brought a hint of a mirthless smile to Naji’s face. “He would want to kick me for not getting back at the man who took him down.”

Malik pulled a weak but fond smile to his lips. “Indeed he would. Now go help our Brothers drive the Templars out of the town and back into the canyon.”

Without a second glance at the body of his former student, Malik continued up the hill towards the fortress.

He fought his way through two more groups of Assassins fighting Templars, aiding where he could before making his way still higher towards the fortress. That is where Altaїr would be heading, to the heart of the battle.

The high gray walls of the stronghold rose before him, the looming and intimidating height now imposing itself upon those who used to protect it. It once was a comforting sight, but now that there were Templars swarming inside it felt diseased and wrong. At the foot of the wall were villagers, bodies twisted and bloodied from the fall that they had suffered at the hands of the army. They had been hostages, pushed from the top of the wall like so many bails of waste.

Malik’s gaze fell upon the closed gate that led to the courtyard and discerned a familiar figure cloaked in white. He was yelling through the fortification and a voice was calling back, a tone of victory in his rough voice.

The conversation had just ended when Malik make his cautious approach. Altaїr stood, every muscle clenched and ready to spring into action. Sensing Malik’s approach, he turned to his partner, face set in determination.

“It is Haras,” he said, voice as tight as his posture. “They have Al Mualim and a number of others.”

“Haras? He is one of our newest Brothers. What were his demands?” Malik asked of his partner, who had turned once again to look through the gate.

“None,” was the reply. He glanced upwards and Malik followed the path the other’s gaze passed by. There were rough boards attached to the outer wall just beside the gate. They formed a perfect stealthy path to the top of the battlement.

A sense of great foreboding fell upon Malik as he came to realize Altaїr’s plan. “You are not thinking of infiltrating the fortress alone.”

“It is the only way.” There was a cry that echoed across the walls beyond the gate. They were killing the hostages one by one and every moment they hesitated would bring another Brother to his death. If only they had more time to think of a new plan.

“This is madness, Altaїr!” Malik hissed between clenched teeth, making sure to keep his voice low enough for those inside the fortress to not hear. “If they see you, Al Mualim will be the first they kill.”

Burning amber eyes turned upon him, the decision already long set. “He will die also if nothing is done.”

Malik suddenly thought upon the studies that he had taken in when he was younger. There may be another way; the trick was convincing the other Assassin. “We could flank around the backside of the fortress. There is a hidden path; we could take them by surprise.”

Just as Malik finished his suggestion there was a second cry and a distant thud as another one of their Brothers met his end with the bolt of a crossbow through his chest.

“There is no time,” Altaїr said quickly, turning without waiting for a response.

With that, he kicked his way up to the first ledge, hoisting himself up the boards secured to the outer wall. Malik knew to stay silent and not call up to him. Stealth would need to be on Altaїr’s side and if anything gave him away, all would be lost.

Malik took a step back, defeated. Once again, their fate rested in the hands of Altaїr. If it were any other task, Malik would have the utmost faith in his partner. Stealthy infiltration and silent deaths were not his strong suit.

There was a hand at his shoulder, quickly drawing his attention away. Kadar stood at his side, his gray robes spattered with the blood of battle. He looked to be exhausted but unharmed. “What is happening, Malik?”

“Idiocy,” Malik answered through clenched teeth. He focused suddenly on the words that Haras was yelling across the yard. Something about Al Mualim knowing where an artifact was? None of the traitor’s ramblings made sense to him, and whatever he was asking for was never given by Al Mualim.

Malik discerned a flash of white beyond the gate and he almost called out to Altaїr to stop, but doing so would only give him away sooner. He was too hasty, too reckless. He leapt into the air and struck his target, the single cry piercing the thick silence.

The courtyard exploded into chaos.

Swords clashed, men yelled, and the gate was opened. Before it even got above his head, Malik ducked underneath the heavy gate and added his sword to the fray. The Templars were few here, the main force still in the town. They fell easily. As the last man met his end, Al Mualim called over the courtyard of battle weary Assassins.

“Go secure the town, drive the Templars away!”

There was an affirming ripple through the few Assassins who had managed to fight their way to the fortress and dispatch the Templars there. They turned to do as they were bid, Malik following. He stopped, however, and set eyes upon Altaїr. He stood on high with Al Mualim at his side. Despite the distance between them, Malik could feel his amber eyes piercing into his chest. Malik simply set his teeth and turned as the other man averted his attention back to their Mentor.

No doubt their Mentor wanted to condone Altaїr’s reckless and selfish actions. Malik took heart in the thought. It had been too long that Al Mualim allowed Altaїr to be so carefree in his techniques. Malik had tried and failed to change the man, to make him see the error of his ways. If anything, his words had been ignored and the behavior redoubled. It was this that made Malik hate how he needed the intimacy of the man, hated how much pleasure he got from making love to him.

Shoving the thoughts from his mind, he added his waning strength to that of his Brothers. It was not long until they had the Templars in full retreat, driving them into the canyon and well beyond it. Malik walked with his fellow Assassins back up the hill towards the shattered gates, the straggling and broken army long gone. Kadar was at his side once more, feet dragging with fatigue. An overwhelming pride spread through Malik’s chest for his brother. Perhaps he did have the strength to hold his own in the Brotherhood. It was this moment that Malik began questioning his hesitancy to let Kadar rise within the ranks of the Assassins. It had been for his protection, but now he realized that he had only been holding his brother back.

Kadar had become a man that day. At sixteen years he had seen and survived a true battle. It was time for Malik to let go of his little brother and accept him as a man.

They came upon the town, the villagers who had managed to hide away already hard at work putting out the fires that the army had started.

Others had begun to deal with the corpses strewn about. They made a pile of the Templar bodies to be burned; as invaders, they deserved no better treatment. The citizens of Masyaf who had lost their lives as well as the Assassins who had died valiantly in battle were laid in neat rows. They would be put to rest with the proper rituals and mourning they were due.

They had barely cleared half of the corpses when the sun began to set. Already far beyond the point of exhaustion, Malik excused himself from the gritty work to rest for the evening, Kadar following him. The villagers would continue gathering the bodies by torchlight until they were all together. Only then would Masyaf sleep, kept safe by vigilant lookouts at the broken gate.

In his bed, Malik twisted and turned beneath his light summer blanket. Thoughts of the battle plagued his mind, guilt that he should not feel over the death of his student. But most of all he was sorely missing strong, protective arms about him and missed holding the man in return. He was not dependent on that arrogant ass, Malik told himself before he forced himself to clear his thoughts.

He did not need the man, but he desired him with every fiber of his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Malik doesn't know what he wants. Either that or he doesn't want to admit it to himself.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse - Chapter 22: Master in Masyaf!


	22. Master in Masyaf

“Together we protected our home, preserved our fortress.” Al Mualim’s voice carried over the heads of the gathered Assassins, standing proud but weary from the three days of burials and rebuilding of the town. “We have all suffered losses and for that we will mourn. Through their deaths, we will become stronger. Do not forget our fallen Brothers; do not let the anger of their deaths fuel your actions to rage. We rise again as we always have against the Templars.”

This was met with a silent acknowledgement across the training field. Some men nodded solemnly, others hid their anger in the shadow of their hoods. Malik thought upon his former student who he had buried that morning alongside many other fallen young Assassins. He was not angry, only disquieted by the number of young men who had lost their lives.

In a battle they had planned for, only the most experienced Assassins would have been sent out to fight. In the chaos of the surprise attack, every available Brother had added their blade to the fray. Far too many youths had given their lives needlessly, but the ones who survived had received honorary promotions in their rank.

“For all of our sacrifice and heroism, there was one man who stood above all.” Malik was jolted from his reminiscing by those booming words of their Mentor. His heart dropped progressively lower into his stomach as he continued. “When our situation was dire, he did what no other could have done. He broke through the Templar’s defenses, rescued his captured Brothers and prevented my own death.”

For the first time in those three days, Malik’s gaze fell upon the man who walked up from behind Al Mualim. What was happening? Their Mentor was going to punish him for his recklessness, was he not? Malik had assumed as much, but the reality of Al Mualim’s decision proved to be the opposite.

“In the wake of this tragic event, a new hope came to us. My Brothers, join me in the courtyard for the ceremony of the elevation of Altaїr Ibn-la’Ahad to the position of Master Assassin.”

In the silence following this announcement, there was a wake of surprised murmurings, of nods and bows of respect. Malik simply stood, unable to move, unable to react.

He did it. He had finally achieved his goal, and yet again Malik was left behind.

The jealousy that he had not felt since he had become a full Assassin of the same rank as Altaїr returned with a vengeance. His sight became dark with it, fury simmering in his chest.

As the crowd followed Al Mualim and the Master Assassin into the library and from there to the courtyard beyond, Malik pushed his way against it. Just the thought of watching the man achieve the goal that Malik had been working twice as hard to achieve brought a sick feeling to his stomach.

He mindlessly walked down the hill towards the village, blind to everything but the path before him. Altaїr was being rewarded for his reckless, selfish, arrogant acts once again. Malik respected Al Mualim in many ways, but his unconditional love for Altaїr was where he drew the line. He appeared to never see his faults, where Malik had to almost fight to see the good beneath them. There was a fine line between respect and adoration and their Mentor had crossed it. Whether that was a good decision on his part was yet to be seen.

Malik may have had his vision muddied by jealousy, but he foresaw little improvement. Having others at his level appeared to humble Altaїr, making him in part bearable. Now there was no one to look up to but their own aging Mentor. He would never look up to a Dai, even though they were technically of a higher rank than Master. Those esteemed scholars were few and far between and always held less respect in the arrogant Assassin’s mind. In his mind, he was on the top, in the highest rank with the highest level of skill.

Malik cursed under his breath, stalking through the village blindly, paying no mind to where his feet brought him. When he finally came to his senses, he found himself at the doorstep of his partner’s abode. He cursed once more. It had become so routine for him to visit Altaїr’s house that he automatically went there instead of his own home. In the beginning, Kadar had called him out on being absent but as time went on he gave up asking questions. Malik simply dodged around the truth, Kadar eventually growing frustrated with the lack of answers and stopped asking.

He sighed and pressed the door open, struck with the overly familiar scent of leather and blade polishing oil. This had become the sanctuary for the two Assassins; a place for them to be in one another’s company without fear of onlookers, a place to make love.

It was here he sat, among the cushions where the two had joined as one countless times over the past two years. This was where they wrestled and struggled for dominance over the other, embraced and gave in to their carnal desires.

Sitting there without the other man made the space seem too large, too stuffy. All the cracks in the walls from the foundation settling became more apparent as Malik looked on. It was hardly perfect, but it was the best the two had. Rather like their relationship, he thought bitterly.

It must have been an hour that he waited, but it felt like much longer. There were steady footsteps at the door, making Malik’s heart give a leap in his chest. He cursed his reaction to his partner’s approach, cursed again as his heart continued lifting as the door was opened. A bright stream of light fell upon the floor, the man casting a stoic shadow in the middle of it.

Malik stood stiffly as the door was shut, hard gaze set upon the man. His chest gripped as Altaїr turned towards him, the room appearing darker than it had before the bright light. Malik’s gaze flickered to the new belt the man wore about his waist. It was twice as broad as his former belt, adorned with intricate decorations and pouches. Malik sneered at this new addition to the man’s wardrobe.

Sensing the animosity thrown in his direction, Altaїr stepped delicately in Malik’s direction. He kept his tone carefully neutral. “I did not see you at my ceremony.”

Malik matched the tone, forcing down his urge to cause bodily harm to him. “That is because I did not attend.”

Altaїr drew his brows together, taking another tentative step forward. “I had expected you to be there. I wanted you there.”

That made Malik snap. He allowed his animosity to flow freely, barely able to restrain his fists, which he kept clenched at his sides. “Why, so you could revel in your own glory knowing that I looked on?” At this, Altaїr looked taken aback. Malik seethed, his voice dark and hissing with acrimony. “All of my life I have dreamed of becoming a Master Assassin. I have worked long and hard just to reach where I am now. Seeing you gain the title with such ease sickens me.”

“I cannot help that I am skilled, Malik.” It was meant to be calming, but the words only served to enflame Malik’s rage.

He threw his inhibitions to the wind, not caring for the other’s wellbeing any longer. He wanted the man to hurt, to make him feel as much pain as he was experiencing.

“You selfish-”

In a flash, his fist slammed into Altaїr’s cheek, the man having no chance to dodge the furious attack. The thud brought a bloom of satisfaction to Malik, the pain in his knuckles from the blow a sweet thing.

“Arrogant-”

 As Altaїr recovered from the shock, Malik next struck his shoulder with an open palm, making the man take a step back to keep his balance.

“Greedy-”

Malik’s flying fist was caught, Altaїr finally defending himself. He knew that if he did not, Malik would not stop. Malik struggled against the hand covering his fist. In a final surge, he turned his partner and slammed his back against the wall, pinning him there.

“ _Bastard_.” He finished, snarling face close to the other. Altaїr took this in stride, not moving to push him away. His expression remained neutral, though Malik could see him struggling to not wince, the skin around his cheek reddening already. Malik could feel tears of rage welling in his eyes, but he blinked them away furiously. Balling his fists in the other’s robes at his shoulders, he growled dangerously. “I told you that infiltrating the fortress alone was a poor judgment. _If you had waited I could have-”_

Altaїr still made no move to extract himself from the harsh grip. His response was gentle but firm. “Malik, if I had waited Al Mualim would have been killed. What’s done is done. I rescued our Mentor and I was rewarded because of it.”

Malik gave a harsh sigh, unable to meet those amber eyes, burning with sincerity. “Such arrogance.”

“And you are resentful and jealous, as you always have been.” The words hit Malik like a blow to the chest. With one last shove, he pushed away from the man. “Malik-” His name was said with such strain, such need.

Malik turned sharply, glaring daggers at those eyes that were so vulnerable and apologetic. It brought an equal amount of pain and satisfaction to see his partner in such a state of worry. His tongue reflected only harshness, his desire to salt the wound too much to overcome. “Perhaps I am, but that does not make up for your own faults.”

All traces of weakness were wiped from Altaїr’s next words, replaced by annoyance. The change was instantaneous and Malik reveled in it. “And perhaps I was wrong to infiltrate the fortress on my own, but it needed to be done to preserve the Brotherhood.”

Malik scoffed. “Admitting you were wrong? This is a first.”

Altaїr ignored this and brought a hand to his cheek, tenderly touching the already swollen skin. It was the first that he acknowledged the obviously painful injury inflicted so harshly by his partner. He glared challengingly at Malik. “Are you going to apologize for attacking me?”

Malik stepped closer once again, entering Altaїr’s space in response to the challenge. He narrowed his gaze, cocking his head to the side. “You deserved that.”

In one swift motion, Malik’s ass was grasped by two strong, covering hands. Before Malik could step away, he was wrenched flush with Altaїr, who pulled him into a harsh grind. His protest was silenced by a biting kiss. In response to this, Malik growled and pressed the man back against the wall, adding his own crushing grinds to the fray. He was content to continue rubbing against the man, but Altaїr apparently desired more.

Altair bodily pushed Malik down to the cushions, tearing mindlessly at his clothes. Malik met this with no resistance, lost in the desirous groping hands attacking his robes.

His words were panting, strained with anticipation. “I am still angry with you.”

Altaїr’s response was hurried, but carried with it a certain lightness, a fondness. “Are you ever not?” He managed to pull the ties on the front of Malik’s robes open, sucking lustily on the skin he unveiled. Malik pulled in steadying breaths, groping at the other Assassin’s ass before moving to unlace his pants. He coaxed out his already stiff member, Altaїr pulling in a hissing breath as he gripped its girth and gave a pull.

This added an urgency to Altaїr’s actions, the man quickly climbing off of Malik to tug his boots off. He tore Malik’s pants down with just as swift of movements. Before Malik could think to sit up, Altaїr lunged back up, his mouth and tongue suddenly hard at work at the base of his cock. This drew a thin moan from Malik, clutching at the cushions he lay upon.

Altair plunged a hand under a cushion off to the side, the clink of glass on metal reminding the two of the dagger always left there. Malik would have teased the man as he had done many times before, of keeping a blade always within reach in his own home. All thoughts of this were thrown to the wind as his partner brought forth a bottle of clear oil. After a few times of having to retrieve the bottle from the man’s bedroom, the two had decided to have lubricating oil in each place.

Malik bit his lip in anticipation as Altaїr moistened his fingertips with the unscented plant-based oil, not waiting to sweep down and spread it around the wanton man’s entrance. The digit teased Malik for a moment before pressing slowly in. This pulled a needing gasp at the familiar intrusion, the touch sending sparks of sensation up Malik’s spine. It was not long until Altaїr had three fingers inside him, stretching him out. As soon as the fingers were removed, Malik caught the Master Assassin’s shoulders and flipped him.

Pressing the man so he was sitting with his back to the cushions propped against the wall, Malik confiscated the bottle of oil from Altaїr. As amber eyes dark with lust watched on, Malik wet his palm with the oil, next clenching the man’s stiff sex and pulling it. When it was properly slick, Malik looked up to find Altaїr overcome with shameless desire, mouth open and slowly drawing in heady breaths.

This was one victory that had been hard won and Malik basked in it. He leaned down and pulled him into a deep kiss, Altaїr groping his still clothed back, tugging him close. Malik positioned himself just above his partner’s lap, both working together to guide Altaїr’s sex into him. Malik bit his lower lip as he was filled completely. It took him a moment, as always, to adjust to the penetration, the pair breathing in the other’s hot breaths in this moment of pause.

Awash with lust and needing more, Malik began slowly moving his hips up and down. In reception to this, his hips were grabbed by the one inside him, Altaїr guiding his motions as he added his own slow but deep thrusts. Malik dug his fingers into Altaїr’s muscled shoulders, through the thick fabric of his Master robes. They were not so different from Malik’s, though they had embroidered embellishments here and there. Malik bent down and bit at his partner’s lower lip, the man growling in approval, bringing up the speed of his thrusts. At the new onslaught, Malik broke away with a gasp and matched his tempo, overcome with pleasure as the man moved in and out of him.

Gripping hands in rough spun robes, fingers digging into muscled arms and backs, nails scraping against olive skin, the two entangled themselves in one another. Breath mingled as their lips were so close, but not touching.

Their motions slowed as fatigue set in. They caught their breath, hands freely wandering over the other’s clothed body, Malik still undulating his hips with the man inside him. Just as Malik leaned in to cover the other man’s mouth with his own, Altaїr began thrusting with a renewed strength and speed. Malik collapsed against the man at the pounding, unable to keep up with his pace. He took Altaїr’s thrusts, incapable of restraining his sharp moans.

The blindingly fast thrusts were quickly sending him over the edge. One hand gripped at the back of Altaїr’s robes, the other hard at work at his own stiff, wanting sex.

Altaїr’s quick grunts grew into an almost animalistic growl. He sunk his teeth into the exposed skin at the base of Malik’s neck, biting and sucking harshly as his thrusts became a sloppy frenzy. Malik took this in stride, looking on as his partner threw his head back, clenching him tight as he convulsed into his orgasm. He collapsed in exhaustion beneath Malik, who was still working to come to his own close finish.

He could feel it building, could feel the heat pooling. A second hand covered his own, squeezing and adding in swifter motions. He tensed, biting his lip to still the cry that threatened to emerge from his throat. He reached his peak, releasing a sighing moan as he felt his seed leave him, his sex pulsating with the intensity of it. He fell into Altaїr’s tangling embrace, reveling in the fact that his spunk was seeping into the new leather of the other man’s Master belt.

Malik scraped his teeth along Altaїr’s jaw and neck, retracing the harsh biting with kisses. In turn, Altaїr raked his fingers through Malik’s short hair. Both were still catching their breath after the sweaty exertion. They were lost in a sloppy exchange of lip and tongue, broken by hot, heavy breaths.

They remained thus, encircled in the other’s arms. They slowly fell into silence, their bliss plagued only by sour thoughts from their harsh exchange before their act of pleasure and release.

Malik was loathe to break the silence, but his thoughts screamed back into his mind flooding through his bliss. He let a hand run over the top of the man’s Master belt, spreading his sticky seed as he did so. “You know that this means that we will no longer be partners. As a Master, you will be assigned to solo missions almost exclusively.”

“It is more efficient for me to work alone.” The steady, factual tone Altaїr used set Malik off again, the sense of betrayal and jealousy blooming once more.

He pressed himself up to look into those now cold and calculating amber eyes. “Are you saying that having me as a partner has slowed you down?” The man was unbelievable. The change that just overcame him made him unrecognizable.

As if to soothe him, Altaїr drew a hand over Malik’s shoulder and down to his exposed chest, passing over the marks he made in their passion. “The missions I will receive are best suited to a single highly skilled Assassin.”

Malik glared down upon him, anger rising steadily. “So I am to be left behind and simply warm your bed when you return?”

“Is that not what you do already when we are not on a mission together?”

The anger redoubled and suddenly Malik could not bear to touch the man beneath him. He shoved away from Altaїr, seething. “Is that all I am to you? Someone for you to use to your own satisfaction?”

Altaїr’s voice was maddeningly soft, not meeting Malik’s searing gaze. “That is all you can be to me. “

“I am your partner, Altaїr. Not some whore,” he spat out the word, drawing himself quickly to his feet and ignoring the familiar sharp pain in his lower back. He grabbed his pants from where they had been tossed in the heat of the moment.

“That is not what I said.” It was not an apology. It was not even meant to calm him. The tone was indignant, arrogance that Altaїr conveyed in those words. Malik continued on to shove his legs through his pants, covering himself once again.

“Is it not?” He replied sharply, next retrieving his boots. He hastily pulled them on, the silence palpable between them. As he turned to leave, he gave the Master Assassin one last glance. “I suppose we will see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love exploring Altair's descent into maddening arrogance. I like to think that he has Narcissistic Personality Disorder, but that might be the BA in Psychology talking. I don't think he is bad enough to have a disorder, but damn is he destructive with what he has. 
> 
> Next time on Silent Discourse, yet another time jump! Watch as Malik spirals into a pattern of destruction as Altair achieves greatness. Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment: Chapter 23: Crucial in Conduct!


	23. Crucial in Conduct

Two years past thus. Little changed, save for Altaїr’s increasing arrogance that only Malik had foreseen and bared with more than all. He single handedly took on missions meant for a team of highly skilled Assassins and returned victorious each time. Others looked up to him as more than just a man with skill, but as someone to be revered.

His so-called Eagle Vision became common knowledge, Altaїr no longer bothering to hide his true skills. This only earned him more praise and awe. After his heroic actions that saved Masyaf and their Mentor from falling, every Assassin knew his name. As it was with these things, there were many different reactions to the man’s rise in recognition. There were those who met him with the utmost respect and saw him as a capable member of the Brotherhood. There were those who spoke slander of him behind closed doors and in alleyways, driven by jealousy. There were those who followed his every step, striving to learn even the way he walked but never willing to approach him. Malik saw his own brother fall in with the latter group, further infuriating him.

And then there was Malik, who continually cursed himself for giving in to the allure of the Master Assassin, satisfying him on those few nights that he was in Masyaf before venturing out on another mission.

Upon every night of Altaїr’s return, Malik swore it would be the last that he allowed himself to embrace the man like a forlorn lover who had done nothing but wait to warm his bed. Yet as the weeks and months passed, he found himself unable to resist. For so long he had fallen under the allure of Altaїr, allowed him to own him in ways that no other had and in turn Malik had taken the same from him. Now Malik found himself restless in his sleep when there was no one beside him to hold close. For the first time in his life, or ever since he could remember, he had trouble getting enough rest each night he was alone. This wore on his patience, drawing his brow in a permanent frown of irritation. It was only when he was in Altaїr’s arms that he could sleep soundly.

Malik was by no means idle while his elated partner ventured out on missions of the utmost import and secrecy. He continued collecting information for his cartography with Naji, filling the need for maps and charts. Without a steady partner for his missions, Malik took Kadar with him when he was sent out. Now a man grown, having seen almost eighteen years, Malik had to finally accept that his brother was capable of protecting himself. Taking him on these missions was partially an effort to strengthen him, but it was mostly a tool to keep Kadar from copying Altaїr’s unsubtle and dangerous techniques.

It was on this topic that Malik spoke of one night in a lull in Altaїr’s duties in the brief moment of spring before the weather turned to summer. His hunger and irritation towards the man properly sated after a passionate embrace, Malik was able to speak to him in a civil manner. Naked flesh was entwined, both men fitting comfortably together in the familiar embrace.

It was Altaїr to bring up the topic, in an increasingly rare surge of interest of someone other than himself. “I heard that your brother is your new partner. Is he learning well?”

Trying his best to keep the bitterness at bay, Malik replied. “Kadar looks up to you more than he does me.”

“That is not entirely true.”  

Malik sighed at this. Of course Altaїr spoke the truth. This was indeed a rare moment of sincerity from the man. “He does not retain the teachings that I give him. Sometimes I feel it is hopeless.”

Altaїr drew his fingers through Malik’s short black hair. “I think more highly of him than you do, it seems.”

Malik scoffed at that, holding the barest amount of animosity. “Of course you would. He worships even the dirty water from your washing. Why would you not think highly of him? If you spent even a moment in his company you will know I speak truth.” Malik turned on him, tone biting. “Oh right, your overinflated ego would not be able to stomach even _more_ praise than it already gets, and you can be sure that you would get plenty from him. But Kadar is not the only one. Have you noticed Rauf watching your every move?”

In defiance to Malik’s sudden turn in tone, Altaїr pulled his partner in close and was met with no resistance. “I told him he could study me from afar.”

Malik sighed, anger abating as the arms around him tightened. “When did you become so vain?”

Altaїr remained neutral, civil in the face of the man baiting him. “I am not vain. I have talents that Rauf wants to learn and teach as the new swordplay instructor for the Novices. Why not let Kadar study under me as well?”

That brought out a small incredulous chuckle from Malik. “Because I know better than have my own brother taking advice from you.”

“Would Al Mualim have given me the title of Master if he did not think I was an able Assassin?” There it was: that need to defend himself against anyone speaking of him with a less than praising manner. They met one another’s gaze, both challenging the other.

“Our Mentor gave you the title because of your idiotic bravery and your natural skill.”

Altaїr’s mouth broke into a crooked smirk. “So you admit that I am skilled.”

Malik pursed his lips. “Anyone with eyes can see that. Only I know that it is accompanied by an overwhelming arrogance.”

“Is it wrong to know my own strengths?” The seductive tone stirred something in Malik somewhere in the vicinity of his loins.

Malik sighed sharply. “Just don’t let your ego blind you to your weaknesses.”

\---

“Did you hear that Altaїr stopped the Templars from poisoning the wells in Acre?” The reverence in Kadar’s voice made Malik cringe. Of course he had heard of the Master Assassin’s latest heroic act. The whole city of Masyaf was buzzing with news of the siege of Acre, headed by the Templars under the guise of Saracens. It was little wonder that the news had reached him.

“Why should I care that it was he who did it? As long as we are fighting the Templars, it does not matter which of us carries out the deed.” Malik tried and failed to sound disinterested, but his words came out sharp and raw. He picked up a piece from the game board between them and took his move.

Kadar looked at him with a challenging stare and Malik could see his own stubbornness reflected in those eyes that were the perfect image of his own. “You are still sour over Altaїr becoming a Master?” Kadar moved one of his own game pieces, removing one of Malik’s as he jumped over it. Malik scratched the hair on his chin and took in the whole game. They were of an equal score, but his own defense was much stronger than his brother’s. If Kadar kept his players so open, Malik could end the game in three more moves. 

“I am not sour,” Malik denied, staring intently at the board. “I simply think he gets far too much praise for doing tasks that any one of us could do.”

“He dodged through the battle, took on a soldier’s disguise and killed his target in his own barracks!” Kadar seemed to glow as he spoke, as if he were talking of a god. “Rumors say that he escaped by launching himself out with a catapult!”

Malik snorted at that. “You should not believe all the stories you are told.” He had not seen Altaїr since his return from Acre the previous day. He had been too surrounded by admirers for him to dare get close or to even sneak into his house. As it was with these things, Malik knew that Altaїr needed time to calm his ego before he was tolerable to be around.

Luck would not be in his favor in this matter. Before Malik could make his next move, there was a hurried knock on the door of the brothers’ home. He sighed and stood, answering the beckoning.

“Assassin Al-Sayf,” a Novice messenger that Malik vaguely recognized addressed him with a respectful bow. He nodded for the young man to continue. “Our Mentor has asked to see you. He said it is urgent and of the utmost importance.”

“What is it?” Kadar asked from where he sat at the game board, tone bright with the excitement of potentially having another mission to attend with his brother.

The Novice shook his head. “Al Mualim could not tell me.”

Malik gave a short nod and turned to his brother. “Stay here, Kadar.”

Not needing to see the disappointed frown at being left behind, Malik turned away and followed the Novice up the hill to their Mentor’s study. As the grand fortress came into view, a hand at Malik’s shoulder made him turn. His mouth scowled while his heart leapt into his throat. He cursed his reaction upon seeing his partner after little more than a week apart.

“Has Al Mualim summoned you as well?” Malik chided, not without a hint of distain.

The hooded man smirked in return, nodding. “It must be important. The messenger told me that it is a private matter.”

“Private?” Malik milled over the word, unsure as to what exactly it meant. “Like the missions that you cannot tell me the details of that you have been going on for months?” It had been yet another point of annoyance for Malik to be unable to hear exactly what Altaїr had gone to do in his missions. It was almost as if their Mentor had plans far beyond the Brotherhood, plans that could only be carried out with the utmost secrecy. Why he was being summoned as well was a mystery.

Al Mualim was standing at the broad, tall window in his study, the ironwork supporting the glass twisting upwards to the vaulted ceiling. His brow was drawn as he looked down upon the town below.

Both Assassin and Master bowed as they came to stand before the desk, knowing that their presence had been noticed.

“Altaїr, Malik.” Al Mualim addressed the two men, slowly turning towards them. There was a certain shadow in the back of his good eye, masked by a glint of excitement. The look sent a chill down Malik’s spine but when he glanced to his partner, he appeared not phased. Perhaps this was always how he acted when speaking of his ‘private’ missions and Altaїr was simply used to it.

“What I tell you must never be repeated, not to _anyone_ ,” he forced that last word, punctuating his meaning. “I have brought both of you here because you have worked well together in the past and this mission requires more than one excellent Assassin to complete.” Al Mualim appeared to gather his thoughts before continuing. “There is an item of more worth than that of all the riches and knowledge we could accumulate in a thousand lifetimes. The Templars have discovered it and it cannot fall into their hands. It is vital to have in our possession and I will accept no failure to retrieve it.”

Malik took in this new information, each word bringing about ten questions in his mind. “Mentor, what could possibly be worth so much and why does the Brotherhood need an item of such bounty?”

“That I cannot say, for even I do not know its true strength. Let us call it the Arc.” Al Mualim turned to Malik. “I understand that you have taken your brother as your mission partner. He may join you on this mission but as he is not of such a high rank, he cannot know the details of what you are retrieving. You and Altaїr are to be the only ones to know the truth of this mission. I cannot say enough of the importance of secrecy in this.” Malik nodded, forcing back a grimace. Kadar would be overjoyed to finally be put on a mission with his idol. Malik had been forced to come to terms with his brother’s ascent into adulthood, forced to allow him to walk his own path. He had tried to steer him away from the teachings of Altaїr, but that only made Kadar pull further away from his teachings of caution.

Appearing to not need more information on the questionable item they were to retrieve, Altaїr jumped right to the vital information. “Where are we to find it?”

“Jerusalem, in Solomon’s Temple.”

* * *

End Part 1

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: Oh shiz, you know where this is going, don't you? Yup.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting (and rather bloody) installment: Part 2, beginning with Chapter 24: Brother in Blood


	24. Brother in Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: All dialogue in this chapter is directly from the game. Not my dialogue.

* * *

Part 2

* * *

“Wait! There must be another way. This one need not die.”

The Master Assassin was upon his prey before the words stopped him. Indeed, there was no way of stopping the man.

“An excellent kill. Fortune favors your blade.” Malik shot an angry glance at his brother as he complimented the exact action he himself had tried to prevent.

Admiration. It sickened Malik. The whole five day journey to Jerusalem had been filled with his brother praising the Master, watching his every move. This was the first that Kadar had seen Altaїr’s work with a blade, and the arrogant man was never late to flaunt his own pride.

“Not fortune, skill. Watch a while longer and you might learn something.”

Malik next shot Altaїr a scathing glance, speaking to his brother as he did so. “Indeed, he'll teach you to disregard everything the Masters taught us.”

“And how would you have done it?” A challenge. Any attack on Altaїr’s pride was immediately met with defiance. This was not the man Malik had first given himself to. Ever since he achieved the title of Master, his arrogance became a dark cloud about him. It was only now that Malik could see the full extent of its potency. This was the first time in two years that he had gone on a mission with his intimate partner and the changes he saw were startling and infuriating.

“I would not have drawn attention to us. I would not have taken the life of an innocent. What I would have done is follow the Creed.”

“Nothing is true, everything is permitted. Understand these words. It matters not how we complete our task; only that it is done.” Altaїr was stoic in this. Malik raged silently. If Kadar were not here, Altaїr would have lashed out. In the presence of someone who looked up to him however, he put on the facade of poise, of a teacher.

“But this is not the way-”

“My way's better.”

Malik tossed out his arms in frustration. He was done. Another moment in his esteemed partner’s presence and he would have come to blows. “I will scout ahead. Try not to dishonor us further.”

He ran ahead, trying to clear his mind of the anger festering there. He must focus on the mission. Letting his hot head take over his actions would compromise what they came to do. He had to complete the mission, he had to look after his brother, and he had to keep Altaїr in check.

Malik stopped, spotting a man in Templar robes standing ahead. His two companions quickly caught up to his side when he paused to assess the situation. Plainly disregarding Malik’s warning not a few minutes before, Altaїr ran past and put a blade into the man, silently lowering him to the ground. Malik opened his mouth to reprimand the action, but Altaїr simply continued on, the narrow passageway opening up into a vast cavern. Malik looked at the walls and upon closer inspection saw them to be man-made. It indeed was a temple, built hundreds of years ago for the great ruler Solomon and since abandoned and buried by time.

It was this place that the Templars had excavated; it was this place where the item so greatly desired by Al Mualim resided. The Arc, he had called it. It looked little like the Arcs illustrated in the tomes of history and lore.

A grand gilded box sat upon a high ledge, an ornate decoration that looked like some deathly desert flower sitting atop. The grandness of it was nothing short of breathtaking, even from this distance. “There!” He pointed to the box as his two companions came to stand beside him. “That must be the Ark.”

Kadar also appeared to be struck in awe. “The Ark of the Covenant?” His speech was halting, filled with intrigue and awe.

“Don't be silly, there is no such thing,” Altaїr sharply cut in, tone condescending. “It’s just a story.”

His awe still not broken by the harsh words, Kadar continued to stare at it with wide eyes. “Then what is it?”

Distant footsteps echoed about the grand, damp walls, the once ornately carved pillars. Malik hissed to his companions, “Quiet! Someone's coming.” Malik pulled his brother back and away from the edge, out of sight.

Five men entered the treasure chamber through an arched entryway below. Four were robed as Templar Knights, the fifth in grander attire. He stood a good head over the other men, his booming voice echoing as he gave commands. Malik’s heart dropped into his stomach. Anyone who had heard stories of the Templar Knights would recognize that man anywhere.

The three Assassins crouched unseen upon their balcony. Malik could see Altaїr’s muscles tense beside him and was awash with a great foreboding.

“Robert de Sable,” Altaїr said lowly, bloodlust hanging heavy on his tongue. “His life is mine.”

“No!” Malik whispered harshly, grabbing a handful of his partner’s sleeve in an effort to stop him. “You were asked to retrieve the treasure and deal with Robert only if necessary.”

Amber eyes only for his target, Altaїr responded with immovable resolve. “He stands between us and it. I'd say it's necessary.”

“Discretion, Altair!” Malik hissed in a vain attempt to get through the man’s dangerous determination.

Altaїr tore his arm out of Malik’s desperate grasp. “You mean cowardice! That man is our greatest enemy and here we have a chance to be rid of him.”

He knew he was fighting a pointless battle. Altaїr’s arrogance always won, no matter how logical the counterargument was. “You have already broken two tenets of our Creed. Now you would break the third. Do not compromise the Brotherhood.”

Altaїr’s next words shook Malik with their scorn. “I am you superior, in both title and ability. You should know better than to question me.” They cut deep. It was as though Altaїr was finally telling Malik what he truly thought of him. They had never been equals in his eyes and Malik had never been anything but someone to hold him back. Something in Malik broke in that moment but he was not given the time to reel from it.

Malik looked on in horror as Altaїr descended from their high perch. There was no stopping him. His heart dropped into his stomach as he realized that the arrogant Master Assassin did not stop his approach towards the Templar Grand Master. Before he knew it, Malik too had descended the ladder and had followed Altaїr. They were brothers in arms, if nothing else, so he dutifully followed. Focus intent on Altaїr, Malik barely noticed his brother following close behind him.

As Malik approached, steps cautious but giving away no hint of weakness, Altaїr was addressing the Templars and De Sable was responding.

“Hold, Templars.” His voice carried with it all of the cockiness he could muster. He was so blindly confident. “You are not the only ones with business here.”

“Ah!” The giant of a man turned, voice rasping, his French accent echoing on the damp walls surrounding. “Well, this explains my missing man. And what is it you want?”

“Blood.”

All at once Malik’s senses were dulled and yet hypersensitive. He saw Altaїr’s intent a moment too late, was just barely too slow in his mad lunge to stop the man’s advance. He felt the cloth of Altaїr’s sleeve brush his fingertips, heard the distinct rasp of metal as a hidden blade was unsheathed.

“No wait, don’t!” It was a desperate cry, but all in vain.

Malik froze as he looked on, horrorstruck to witness Altaїr so easily thwarted, caught and overpowered by the Templar Grand Master. He struggled against the beast of a man, his arm shaking with the effort of trying to make his blade meet flesh.

The French man hissed, easily dominating Altaїr in both strength and resolve. “You know not the things in which you meddle, Assassin.” Malik looked helplessly on as Altaїr’s knees threatened to give way beneath him. De Sable continued as Malik stepped back, spreading a protective arm out before Kadar and forcing him to step back with him. The best course of action would be for both Malik and Kadar to escape while the Templars were distracted. If de Sable wanted to kill Altaїr, he would have done so already. His next words confirmed this.

“I spare you only that you may return to your Master and deliver a message.” De Sable was turning Altaїr now, a hand grasping the cloth at his neck. The Master Assassin’s struggles did little to sway him. “The Holy Land is lost to him and his. He should flee now while he has the chance. Stay and all of you will die.”

With a great heave of strength, the Templar Grand Master tossed Altaїr like he was but a bag of grain, sending him flying backwards. Altaїr’s back cracked on a crumbling wall, which gave way under the force of impact. Malik struggled to see what had become of him, but before the dust could settle, de Sable turned back to his men and barked an order that cut through Malik’s thundering chest.

“Men, to arms! Kill the Assassins!”

The temple exploded into chaos. Suddenly there were men upon him, blades drawn and flying. They released savage yells as they attacked, the strength of their blows jarring Malik’s sword arm as he caught their blades with his own. Two were upon him, raining down their steel with unrelenting speed and strength. The other two ran past him and a pang of fear struck through Malik until he forced himself to calm. Kadar was strong, he was skilled. He could hold his own against two-

Malik did not know what made him turn. It could have been the dull wet thud of metal entering flesh. It could have been the choking cough that came afterwards, or even the second wet scrape of metal on bone.

All he saw were wide eyes, the perfect reflection of his own, shock and fear gazing into the dark ceiling high above. An open mouth, blood bubbling at his lips as he gave one last shuddering breath.

The cry that rang across that ancient temple was not one of a human. It was of a beast, enraged, vengeful. The head of a Templar foe was felled like a sapling tree even before his brother’s knees struck the ground.

Malik twisted towards the second Templar just as the foe’s reddened sword was removed from the gut of the young Assassin- the Assassin whose eyes were still wide and moist, glossy and yet dull. Kadar’s shoulder hit the ground, limbs not moving to catch his fall. His skull cracked against the stone, but those glossy eyes did not even flinch at the impact.

Malik stared on, his world slow, ground spinning beneath his feet. White hot pain seared through his left arm and he barely felt it. The blade twisted and tore at his flesh. The cry he released next did not sound like it came from him. It was a far off man who was experiencing that pain. There was no sword tearing through muscle and sinew. There was only his brother, lying still on the ground, still not moving, not moving, not-

Twisting violently around, Malik caught his blade under one of the soldier’s flanks. Red stained those pristine white robes and the man fell. There were two left but neither withstood the blind wrath of the Assassin for long. His blade met another, glittering crimson and dripping, spattering as Malik dashed it to the side. The blade that had pierced though his brother- still soaked in his lifeblood. His vision turned black and when he drew his awareness back to himself, both Templars had fallen to his blade as Malik spun in his wild dance of blind vengeance.

In the silence following their deaths, Malik looked to find Robert de Sable long gone.

There was a tugging at Malik’s arm and his heart leapt as he turned, expecting to find Kadar’s triumphant grin, his hand pulling at his sleeve to grab his attention. A phantom of a smile passed Malik’s cheeks. He tried to raise his arm to clap Kadar on the shoulder, but it would not move. He glanced backwards and his heart plummeted to the floor, his world spinning.

All he found behind him was empty, dark and dank air. A glance down revealed a dripping blade still lodged through his left arm, the weight of it pulling at the torn skin and muscle beneath. Malik stared down at the sword, almost surprised to see a blade in such an interesting place. He tried to lift his arm once more, but again found it would not move. In a daze, ears rigging in the silence, he grasped the hilt of the blade and drew it from his flesh. It came so easily, like from a scabbard so recently polished with-

Vertigo overcame him, then darkness.

Malik woke with a screaming ache in his head, the cold stone floor pressing against his cheek. He tried to stand but only one arm came to his aid. He rolled, stood, wavered, and stepped forward. There were five bodies before him, but somewhere in his foggy mind that number did not match up.

_Kadar_.

His memory flooded back, sharp, clear, and with staggering pain.

They had been attacked by four Templars.

There were five bodies.

Malik caught himself from collapsing to the ground once again, walked two paces, and found that he could no longer support himself. He came crashing to his knees, only to come face to face with eyes that were the perfect reflection of his own staring up at him. They were no longer glossy but foggy, gazing up into oblivion beyond. Before he knew what he was doing, Malik was on his feet once more, staggering back and away from that lifeless gaze that he had looked upon not fifteen minutes ago, but then had held so much life.

It was not him. _Could_ not be him. Kadar had escaped. This corpse only appeared to look exactly like his brother, who he had raised as a father would a son. He had escaped with Altaїr, if indeed the Master Assassin had survived falling though that wall. He _must_ have.

The world spun and Malik turned away. He staggered, toes catching on the rough stonework as he dragged his feet.

The _mission_.

Purpose suddenly filled Malik’s empty breast. It was all he could do to focus on that one thought, all others blocked from his mind. Nothing else mattered, nothing else was important. He was an Assassin.

He was an _Assassin_.

Malik knew not how he managed to make his way to the grand gilded box. He laid wide eyes upon it and found that it was indeed not a box at all. It was an ornate pedestal for whatever fixture was atop it: the golden pod, surrounded by deadly looking spikes like something off of a desert flower. That was the Arc. That was what Al Mualim had sent the three Assassins here for, and that was exactly what he would receive.

The cost did not matter to Al Mualim. The death of one Brother did not matter. All that mattered was this trinket, this gaudy treasure. It was worth more than Malik could know, more than he knew he could ever understand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stage of grief #1: Denial.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting (soul-crushing) installment of Silent Discourse! Chapter 25: Returning in Ruin


	25. Returning in Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most dialogue in this chapter is also from the game. Not mine, etc.

Malik urged his mare into a faster gallop, the motions jarring his uselessly dangling arm at his side, the satchel containing the most precious Arc swinging on his back.

The distant roar of an army amassing behind him drove him on. Upon returning to the treasure chamber, Robert de Sable must have come upon quite a shock when he found his most precious treasure missing.

Malik pressed on, his mind focused only on the road before him. If he looked back, if he thought upon what he had left behind, he would find himself unable to continue on. Nothing mattered now. Nothing else mattered. It was only him, injured, weak from blood loss, but carrying the most valuable trinket strung across his back. He could not afford to think of his fallen brother, could not bear to think upon his partner and where he might be if he had even survived crashing through that wall.

He was alone. He needed no one but himself.

Night fell not soon enough. He pulled his horse well off of the road, well out of the way from wandering eyes. He fell from his horse and lay where he landed, too weak from the loss of blood and from the hard ride to think of setting up camp. His arm screamed in pain, the torn flesh still not bound. A wave of darkness passed across his vision, but he forced himself to stay awake. If he were to survive the night, he knew he had to stop the bleeding. He stood on shaking legs and dug through the saddle bags until he found strips of cloth to bind his wound.

When he revealed the wound to bandage it, his vertigo redoubled. A mess of torn flesh and muscle was all he could see in the waning light of the setting sun. Blood had begun pooling beneath his skin in his hand, bloating his fingers and turning his olive skin a dark red. He tried to move his fingers but the strain pulled at the wound and left him gasping with redoubled pain. With a great effort, he wrapped the strips of cloth as best he could about his wound, pulling them as tight as he could without making himself pass out from the pain. Even so, he tasted blood in his mouth from biting his tongue against the agony.

With his arm bandaged as well as he could, it was all Malik could do to retrieve his bed roll and lay his head upon it. He closed his eyes, his sword drawn and clasped in his good hand. Sleep came far too fast, his exhausted body not allowing him to think upon all that had transpired, all that he had lost in that single day.

Malik woke before the sun, his whole arm throbbing but his fingers oddly numb. He stood on less shaky legs and packed his things into the saddle bags once more, securing the most important satchel over his shoulder. It felt heavier than it had the day before, pulling at his shoulder. He woke his horse and mounted her, drawing her back to the road.

The jolts of riding were an agony on his arm but if he stopped then all would be lost. If he stopped then the army would find him and take the treasure. If he stopped then the loss of his brother would have been for nothing. If he stopped then Altaїr would never know how deep his betrayal ran.

Malik silently raged at the man. It was entirely his fault. If he had only listened to Malik, if only he had followed the Creed as he ought, none of this would have happened. If the arrogant man had only waited, had practiced discretion, then he would be riding back to Masyaf victorious with both his partner and brother at his side.

A fire burned in his breast, stronger and hotter than the searing agony pulling at his arm. He would make Altaїr know of his faults. He would force him to curl at his feet, to feel even a fraction of Malik’s pain. He would crumple with it, would crumple from the humiliation of failing their Mentor.

He thought little upon his brother but when he tried, he found that he could not. Every time his thoughts came to him, they immediately switched to a burning anger, towards the Templars, towards the Brotherhood, towards Al Mualim, but mostly towards the arrogant Master Assassin himself.

He dwelt upon this anger, let it simmer and grow into a full boil of fury. The fault was upon Altaїr. The betrayal was upon Altaїr. The death of the last of his family was upon Altaїr. Their relationship meant nothing. It had been only the sick desire to satisfy both of their bodily cravings. He did not matter. Altaїr meant nothing.

The remainder of the five day journey was spent thus, each day riding in exhausted agony with his fury fueling him on. Every day his arm grew more and more numb, the blood pooling under his skin turning purple then black. Malik dared not dwell on the state of his arm. All that mattered was delivering the Arc to Al Mualim. Everything else was unimportant. His life was unimportant, as was the loss of his brother. He hoped that Altaїr was alive, even if for him to see what disaster his idiotic actions had caused. He needed to see pain and regret in those amber eyes.

If he could make the man feel the pain that he himself was feeling, Malik believed he would be free from it. It was faulty logic, but in his pain-stricken mind all he could think of was a release from the torment. He pressed on, the dizziness in his head now not from blood loss but from fever. His arm had swollen over the five days of travel, the torn flesh hot and red with infection. He was astonished that he could keep himself upright in his saddle even as he urged his horse up the hill towards the gates of Masyaf.

He must have fallen from his horse at the stables, for when he became aware of his surroundings he was getting lifted to his feet by a fellow Brother in the robes of a low rank. The man was asking rapid questions of him, telling him that they were going directly to the infirmary.

A flood of purpose overcame Malik and he forced the man to stop.

“The satchel,” he rasped, “the army.” The Assassin looked at him as if he spoke in the raving tongues of a lunatic. He looked to where he had just stood from and there was the most precious treasure, worth more than his own life and his brother’s. It lay in its satchel beside a pile of horse manure. He turned towards the Assassin supporting him and barked, “Get that satchel, take me to Al Mualim.”

Without another word of protest, the Assassin did just that. Malik barely remembered the journey up the hill towards the fortress. Before he knew it, he was stepping into the library and the Assassin was assisting him up the stairs. Malik held his arm at his side to keep it from swinging wildly as he staggered. His face was set in determination. He had completed the journey and he dared not dwell upon at what cost he had completed it.

“Do not speak, not another word!” The Mentor’s furious voice echoed through the library. Malik focused on stepping up the stairs, but was struck when another voice reached his ears. Alive, desperate, arrogant, but so _alive_. It was the man he most dreaded to see, but so wanted to see his pain for his so dire a betrayal. A betrayal not only towards the Brotherhood, but a betrayal of Malik’s own trust, his own desperate affection. None was still there now. He wanted to see the man suffer, wanted to see the life run from his eyes just as he had seen it leave his brother’s.

“I swear to you I will find it, I’ll-“

“No!” Al Mualim raged. “You will do nothing. You have done enough.” There was a pause, just as Malik stumbled up the stairs and the two came into view. “Where are Malik and Kadar?”

“Dead.”

“No, not dead,” Malik rasped, announcing his presence as he limped towards the two. He dared not look at Altaїr, dared not see the look of shock, or see the desperate but halting step towards him that he knew meant that the Master Assassin wanted nothing more than to run and embrace him. It was fortunate that he did not, because Malik would not have resisted sticking his blade in the man’s chest.

Al Mualim also looked to be shocked at his arrival. “Malik-”

“I still live at least!” Malik let the rage that he had been stewing over during the past five days of agonizing travel flow into his words. His voice shook and rasped with strength that he thought he had lost days before.

“And your brother?”

“Gone.” Malik’s voice cracked and he turned on Altaїr, saw him flinch at his sharp words. “Because of you!”

“Robert threw me from the room! There was no way back. Nothing I could do.” Those words almost sounded like a mantra, as if Altaїr had been repeating them to himself over the past few days. He had been trying to convince himself of their truth, but Malik only heard excuses.

Nothing could satisfy Malik’s need to watch the pain growing in those amber eyes. “Because you would not heed my warning! All of this could have been avoided. And my brother…” Here Malik paused. His next words finally made true what he had been trying to deny. “My brother would still be alive! Your arrogance nearly cost us victory today.”

“Nearly?” There was a hint of hope in Al Mualim’s voice.

Malik turned to the Mentor. “I brought what your favorite failed to find. Here, take it.”He motioned towards the scholar who had taken the satchel from the Assassin who had aided him from the stables. The white robed scholar stepped up, the gaudy treasure in his hands. As it came into the grasp of Al Mualim, Malik felt something break within him. The satisfaction of completing the mission, of besting his rival turned lover, it all fell flat. All at once he felt defeated. Exhaustion that he had failed to notice building up suddenly slammed onto his shoulders and he slumped under the weight of it. But there was still more to do, more to tell. “Though it seems I’ve returned with more than just the treasure.”

A messenger ran up then, telling of Robert de Sable’s army at their gates. Malik’s attention wavered as Al Mualim barked out orders. He must have swayed on his feet because the next he knew, there were steadying hands at his shoulders. He turned to see a familiar face of a scholar looking worriedly at him. It was the same man who had found him researching the rules of the Creed upon the subject of sodomy.

Malik had not the strength to acknowledge the man or his act of kindness. He still raged within, but was too spent to act upon it.

Al Mualim turned on him after issuing his orders, Altaїr already gone from sight. That dark eye pulled his waning gaze, a comforting hand placed on his good arm. “You have done a great service to all of us, Malik. I will see that you are rewarded for your brave efforts. We will all mourn for your brother, but for now you must seek treatment.” The way it was said would have brought tears to Malik’s eyes had he not felt so numb.

“Altaїr-” Malik began, his voice rasping, energy spent. He got the attention of the Mentor, held his gaze. “Altaїr should not live for his betrayal. He broke every one of our tenants without remorse. He killed an innocent old man in the temple, gave away his position before he struck at Robert de Sable, and compromised our Brotherhood by leading them here. I tried to stop him, but his arrogance drove him on. His actions make him little better than a traitor. He should give his life in exchange for my brother’s.” Malik’s voice broke upon the last word and he fell silent.

Al Mualim nodded solemnly at his words. “I was afraid this day would come. Thank you for this information, Malik. Now go rest. You have fulfilled your duties for today.”

Before he knew it, he was being led down the steps from whence he came.

Soft reassuring words were spoken into his ear from the scholar supporting him, but they fell upon deaf ears. Malik could feel his fever thickening in his head. Now that his purpose had been fulfilled, he lacked the strength to go on. It was all he could do to move one foot in front of the other.

He was ushered into the infirmary, the chaos of battle preparations going unnoticed around him. He was placed upon a surgery bench lined with white linen. A healer hovered over him, his questions washing over Malik, unheard and unanswered. He felt a tugging at his left shoulder and looked down to find his sleeve being cut away, the bloody bandages being peeled from his torn flesh. He tried to move his arm but his commands were not honored. He could no longer feel his fingers, though his wound seared as the bandages were stripped off.

The healer stooped over his ruined arm, brow drawn. He barked orders at his assistants, who rushed out of Malik’s blurred sight. He must have lost consciousness for a moment, for when he came to again there was a cup at his lips, steaming liquid pouring into his mouth. He choked on the bitter concoction but forced himself to drink it.

His feverish mind wavered, the healers around him blurring in and out of his vision. Their words were muffled, unintelligible. They were speaking amongst themselves, to him, but he could not distinguish one word from the next.

There was a flash of metal at the corner of his eye and all at once he focused on that toothed blade. Every fiber of his being screamed at him as the blade drew nearer. He must have screamed, must have jolted from his bed.

_No_.

It was not simply his arm; it was his entire way of life. It was everything he had worked to achieve. It was the strength that he had honed, skills that he had perfected. It was who he was, he was an _Assassin_. An Assassin uses his body as a tool and without it he is nothing.

_Nothing_.

Arms pinned him down as he convulsed, trying to free himself, trying to flee. He used the last of his waning strength, but it was not enough to break loose from the binds that they strapped on his legs and across his chest. He tried to scream, but a tight bundle of cloth was shoved between his teeth. A strand of cloth was synched around his upper arm, just above the gore that had once been a strong limb.

The metal on his red, infected flesh burned like ice. He fought against the mind-numbing medicine that was flooding through him, horror his only thought. The blade pulled at his skin, scraped at his already ruined muscles. He tried to scream, but all he could do was bite down harder on the cloth in his mouth. Though the blade moved swiftly, the healer cutting as quickly as he could, the anguish made him feel as though he would never get a release from the torment.

When the serrations on the blade met bone, Malik felt a chill like the throes of death wrack down his spine and the world spun and turned dark.

When light entered his vision once again, Malik fell upon it, embraced it. He had felt so close to the gates of death that any light was welcome in his eyes. When his vision cleared, however, he came to a different conclusion.

He was still surrounded by healers, all looking intently at his left side. One reached over and took hold of something at his side. Malik struggled to lift his heavy head and found he could not. When the object was lifted into his view, a new wave of horror passed by him as its familiarity struck him.

An arm.

_His_ arm.

Malik fought down a wave of nausea as he saw his own blackened and bloody arm carried away and out of sight. It was a surreal vision and one that left him dizzy. He tried to wipe his brow but found his remaining arm still bound to the table. Upon instinct, he raised his left arm to perform the same action. It was all he could do to stay conscious after the wave of agony that came with moving, the arm weightless and…

Gone.

For the first time, Malik’s gaze fell upon what had become of his limb. Still tightly bound to stop him from bleeding out and yet to be sutured shut, his stump was a gory mess. Vertigo overcame him and this time he welcomed the wave of darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop for life-crippling amputations! Now Malik has yet another thing to mourn and be angry about.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment: Chapter 26: Dai in Disparagement!


	26. Dai in Disparagement

He was not sure if he was awake or asleep. He was not sure if the horrors residing just below his level of consciousness were just night terrors or if they had truly transpired. He was not even sure he still had a body. He felt as though he were floating but simultaneously altogether too heavy. He lifted his eyelids, took in his surroundings. Malik found himself in the same surgery room he had been taken before, stone walls on all sides with one open doorway. The floor was wet beside the bench he lay on, as if it had just been wiped clean. Malik did not need to think hard to figure out exactly what had been cleaned. This was the surgery – the floor had seen enough blood to be black with it soaking into the stone. He was propped up on pillows, heavy blankets draped over his body. It was only then that he felt a trickle of sweat run down his temple.

His fever must have broken while he slept. He knew not how long he had been unconscious on this table. Horror and dread filled his foggy mind, the aftertaste of bitter herbal medicine explaining his unbearable numbness and listlessness. He dreaded to look, dreaded what he knew he would find beneath the heavy blankets. He could barely feel one arm, the other…

He tossed the blankets back, the motion jarring and sending him awash with a dulled but still potent stab of pain. It tore through his chest, pulled at his shoulder. Malik dared not look down to look at what had become of his left arm. He knew, had known. Somehow he had known ever since he saw the blade protruding from his flesh that he would never again have its use. Even so nothing could have prepared him for the dizzying shock when he automatically glanced down. Vertigo, nausea- for a moment Malik forgot how to breathe.

Malik set his head in his hand, trying to still the spin. He all at once cursed and welcomed the herbs that numbed his thoughts. He dared not think, dared not reminisce upon all that he had lost. It was all too raw, like the stitches he knew held his skin together beneath the bandages.

He did not sense the approach of the man until it was far too late to prepare himself.

The smallest scuff of a boot on stone floor tugged at Malik’s ears, the noise obviously intentional, serving as an announcement.

It took a moment for Malik’s eyesight to adjust, to look upon that hooded man who had taken so much from him. His chest lurched painfully upon setting his gaze upon him before cooling into an exhausted rage.

“Get out.”

Malik’s voice was hoarse, as if he had been screaming. Perhaps he had. What it lacked in volume was made up tenfold in fury.

Altaїr remained in the doorway to the surgery room, unmoving, expression oddly blank. “I thought you dead, Malik.” It was said softly, sounding less of an excuse but nowhere near an apology.

It did nothing to sway Malik’s resolve.

“ _Get out_ ,” Malik repeated, his voice cracking with the strain. He tried to sit up but immediately his head spun dangerously and he felt himself falling back. Automatically, he reached back but found he had no arm to catch him. The frantic motion tugged at the bandages holding what was left of his arm to his side. Blinding pain racked up to his shoulder and he fell back, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. He gripped his shoulder, covered with a thick layer of bandages. It took all of his resolve to keep from crumpling over in the presence of his traitorous lover.

Teeth clenched, Malik turned fiery eyes upon Altaїr, who had taken a halting step forward as if to come to his aid. “I said _leave_.” Malik practically spat, hating how his voice cracked and wavered underneath his furious growl. “Get _out_.” He blindly grabbed next to him, fist clenching around whatever he could find. As it flew across the room, he saw that it was a mug of water. He did not care if he hit the man. He did not even look to see if it had. He heard it shatter on the stone floor.

“Leave me _as you always have_!” Malik felt his voice break just as the mug had and he buried his face in his hand, the tears at the corners of his eyes hot and angry.

The next he looked up after fighting the tears stinging his eyes, it was to find the familiar face of the healer. He had taken the place of Altaїr and was glancing down from passing by the door, exasperated at the broken mug on the floor. Malik leaned back, wincing at the motion. He found hands at his back and uninjured shoulder and glanced up to find the healer aiding him into a more comfortable position. Stubbornly, Malik tried to push the man away but the herbal medicine still coursing through his body made him too weak to do so.

The healer scoffed at his attempt to shove him off, tone soft but still commanding. “You do not need my help? Good, I have my hands full enough with the Templar invasion just finished. I have one with a broken leg and many more with injuries besides. If you think you can do this all on your own, be my guest.” Irritation pulled at his already tight expression. “I have little time for insolence.”

Malik’s chest lurched. This man had just saved his life and in return Malik acted like an ungrateful child. “I am sorry, Mo'alej. I- I just need rest.” He was exhausted, his hoarse voice soft.

The healer sighed. “It is what you need now, Al-Sayf, the elder brother.” Those words cut deep, bringing with them a flood of painful memories that Malik wished so dearly to forget. They brought to mind an image of the pale, bloodstained face of the one he held most dear to him. All at once he wanted to forget but simultaneously he wanted to remember every bit, every detail of blood clinging to his brother’s newly grown scruff at his chin, still downy with youth. He had refused to shave it off of his chin, being so proud of his mark of manhood.

Malik had no more tears to spare, but his eyes stung with the sore lack. “No, no longer. I am the only one now.” All at once he felt strangely empty. When he glanced up to look at the healer, he saw greatly pained eyes looking down upon him.

“You should consider yourself lucky you did not join him. Your arm was deeply infected and you have lost a lot of blood. It will take a long time for you to fully recover. Do not try to push yourself beyond your capabilities as you usually do. I know you too well now expect anything else.” Those words were said with a sad smile but Malik could see beyond the man’s façade. With only one arm, there was nothing else for him to do, no way he could continue on as an Assassin.

“There is no use for me now.” The soft words came unbidden to his lips, voicing his despair.

The healer shook his head and Malik’s heart fell further. His words, however, carried with them a hint of hope. “Not in your current state, no. Wait a while and you still may find purpose.” With that, he turned away and left Malik to his own silent contemplations.

\---

The next Malik woke, the light of a new dawn streamed through the high narrow window of the stone surgery room. Thirst pulled at his throat and he looked to his side to find a table with a mug of water. As Malik reached for it, a realization dawned on him. It was a different mug than the one he had before. He sat back as if winded from the thought. The visit from his treacherous lover had not been a dream after all.

He drank deep of the water, glad to have the bitterness of the medicine washed away. He no longer had fuzzy incoherent thoughts and Malik was more than grateful for that. It was all he had left to him now, though he forced himself to keep his mind clear. He had to focus on healing and dealing with everything else that had transpired would keep him from doing so.

He did not even look to his left side, fearing what he would find. He could feel nothing but an ache just below his shoulder. Perhaps that had been the nightmare.

Malik closed his eyes against the thoughts that threatened to stream in, relaxing his breath and clearing his mind in meditation. He lost himself for a long while, going deeper into himself than he ought. He lost touch with all that transpired around him, blocked out all noise and patterns of light beyond his closed eyelids.

When he felt ready, he slowly drew himself up and out of his mind, but his heart sunk as he once again found himself surrounded by the gray stone walls of the surgery. He immediately sensed a presence and glanced to his right to find a most familiar bearded face staring intently at him.

Malik jolted to attention, the motion sending a wave of pain up his left shoulder. He cringed and addressed the seated man. “Mentor.”

Al Mualim held up a hand, his demeanor emanating calm. “Stay still, Malik. The healers have told me what you have undergone. You have lost much, but due to your loyal actions the Brotherhood remains strong.” All at once Malik felt his memories flood back in a blinding flash of clarity. Every shiver of pain that had gone up his arm, every dizzying moment of movement during his journey. Each detail of the dull fogginess of his brother’s wide eyes as he lay upon the stone floor of Solomon’s Temple. The words, the excuses put forth from the man he once held so close, who had taken from him all that made him who he was.

Silence rang between the two for a long moment, the thoughts that Malik had tried to keep at bay screaming through his mind. “That may be so but I am useless now.”

There was a twinkle in the old man’s good eye. “That is where you are wrong.” Here he leaned forward in his seat and appeared to contemplate his words for a moment before continuing, the twinkle gone and replaced by a furrowed brow. “I have been following your progress and your successes in your duties for some time now and I must admit that I have been leading you down a path different than what you intended.” Malik’s head spun with this reveal that seemed to come out of the blue. Not swayed, Al Mualim continued. “Your sword arm is strong no doubt, but your mind has always been sharper. Had it been me to decide the path you took, I would have made you a scholar long ago.” He paused, appearing to regret his next words. “It was never my intention to make you a Master, Malik.”

Malik could feel yet another hope break somewhere deep in his chest. He had always thought that Al Mualim had thought better of him, had respected his strength. To have his Mentor come to him now, in his most vulnerable state and to tell him such a thing…

His answering tone was hollow, soft and broken. “Why did you not tell me this before? Why let me live a path with so unattainable a goal?”

Al Mualim had his answer ready and he was strong in his conviction to his words. “Every Brother must be free to choose his own way. This is what we strive for in all things, is it not?”

“I just chose the wrong path,” Malik replied distantly, running his hand down his face in silent distress.

The response he got was even stronger, to make up for his weakness. “Not the wrong path, Malik. It is an honorable goal to become a Master. You wished to fill your father’s shoes and I commend that. It just would have held you back from your full potential.”

The despair would not abate. “There is no more potential. Not anymore. I am useless to the Brotherhood without my arm.”

Al Mualim shook his head. “Again, that is where you are wrong, Malik.” The Assassin looked on as his Mentor brought forth a bundle of black cloth, folded delicately and with care. “This is where I have been leading you all your life.” He set the cloth on Malik’s lap over the hospital sheet he had pulled up to his waist.

Malik took it up and the garment fell open before him. They were black robes, the sleeves and the hem embroidered with ornate white designs. He knew these markings well. Many men around the town as well as those who oversaw the Bureaus wore them. “A Rafiq?”

“A Dai.”

Malik’s head spun. This must be another one of his fevered delusions, _must_ be. That was the highest rank in the Brotherhood, second only to Mentor. It placed him above even the Master Assassin rank. His throat constricted and he dropped the robe from his hand in shock. “Mentor-”

Not giving him time to deny this honor, Al Mualim cut him off. “You have a dedication to the Creed not seen in many and your mind is unmatched even by some of our own scholars. You still have the use of your sword arm, your quill hand. You will be our Master Cartographer and the Dai in residence in the Bureau in Jerusalem.”

“Jerusalem?” Malik’s throat constricted for a second time. He had little desire to return to that place, where he had lost so much, where the body of his brother still- _no_. Malik forced the image from his mind.

Al Mualim nodded. “You know of the passing of the Rafiq who lived there, yes? You will take up his position and serve as the contact for our Brothers there. Do you accept this responsibility?”

Malik was speechless for a long moment. He swallowed, tried to gather his thoughts. When he finally did, all he could utter was a soft response, not meeting his Mentor’s piercing and almost too sympathetic gaze. “It would be an honor, Mentor.”

Al Mualim stood and Malik half expected him to place a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he did not. Instead he stood regally over the surgery bed and addressed the broken man lying there. “Rest now, Dai Malik. You will travel to Jerusalem as soon as you are able.” He stepped away and was halfway to the door before Malik’s thoughts caught up with him.

“Wait-” Malik almost choked on the word, unsure exactly what he wanted to ask and was reluctant to hear the answer. He voiced his question regardless. If he did not ask, then his need to know would drive him mad. “What has become of Altaїr?”

He could see his Mentor’s gaze harden just slightly, focused on a distant thought. “He is being reborn. He has clearly lost sight of what it is to be an Assassin and must learn our ways anew. When he wakes he will be but a Novice once again.”

That thought for a moment brought humor to Malik’s sorrow stricken mind, though it was short-lived. “He is not dead, then.” He did not know whether that made him relieved or disappointed.

“He thinks he has died and is sleeping the sleep of death. His betrayal to both the Brotherhood and to you has been dealt with. Treat him as you will, but remember that he is still your Brother.” Malik nodded at Al Mualim’s words and watched as he stepped from the room and disappeared from sight beyond the doorway.

Malik made a decision then and there to make the next meeting between him and his traitorous lover as rancid and harsh as his own stricken heart could muster. Altaїr would be spared no amount of grief and guilt.

\---

The next day Malik was released from the care of the healers under strict orders to keep a sharp eye on what was left of his arm in case infection set in again. The walk down the hill from the fortress into town was a slow one as he was still weak from losing so much blood. He knew he was drawing stares from passerby. He still wore the robes that he had returned from Jerusalem in, the left sleeve torn and still bloody with his freshly bound stub underneath. The new black robes he carried close to his chest, clinging to the fine fabric like a crutch. The white markings it bore spoke volumes of his new high rank, though he still felt unworthy to adorn them. He was crippled, broken in both body and mind. Al Mualim’s decision to put him at the rank of a Dai still left him stunned. There had been no ceremony, but Malik figured that there had been an announcement given to the scholars and other members of the Brotherhood. All of this made it feel so unreal, so rushed. These thoughts flooded his mind as he walked with dragging steps through the market, past the washing fountain.

He came upon the door to his family home and without a second thought pressed his way in. If he had hesitated, he would have found himself frozen, terrified to go inside and find it painfully devoid of that cheerful youthful grin that he had come to expect.

The curtains were drawn shut, the barest of rays of light piercing through the cracks between cloth and wall, offering little light to see by. Malik made it as far as the game board before he collapsed, knees cushioned by the pillows that lay about. Malik caught his shuddering breath, his vision spinning for a moment. When he recovered he found that he sat before the game board in his usual spot. His heart was devoid of all feeling as he gazed upon the game pieces.

They were still set up in their haphazard positions, the ones on Malik’s side with a strong defense and the ones opposite open to attack. He reached for one of his own pieces, not exactly sure why his fingers trembled the way they did. He slid it across the board, putting it in its new position.

Malik sat in the dark in such complete deafening silence, gaze downcast and heart numb.

He found his lips moving, his voice a quivering whisper. “It is your turn, Kadar.”

He glanced up and for a moment fancied he saw a shadow of a figure before him. When his eyes focused, he saw it was only the darkened doorway to the kitchen, the hearth long cold. Malik took in a shuddering shallow breath and sat in silence for a while longer. His hand gripped the black robe at his side.

He could barely hear himself speak, his voice as soft as the rays of light shining through the dusty dark air. “I finally did it, Kadar. I beat him.” He stared at the game board, at how the pieces his brother had lain out told exactly his strategy for battle. It spoke volumes of his weaknesses. If Malik had taken advantage of the vulnerability of the players, his brother would have lost all defense and fallen.

Just as Kadar had fallen to the Templar’s blade.

“I beat him, but at what cost?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stage of grief: Bargaining.  
> Sorry for the feels! Actually I'm not sorry at all. The feels won't stop for a while. Things have to get worse before they get better, yeah?  
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting (FEELS) installment: Chapter 27: Abode in Abhorring.


	27. Abode in Abhorring

It took Malik a week to recover enough from his ordeal to finally begin preparations for moving to Jerusalem. He had few possessions save the necessaries and a few sentimental items. He took with him the small practice blade he had received as a gift from his father when he first was accepted as a Novice. He took the books that Kadar had given him over the years as well as the books he was given by his cartography instructor. Lastly he took the stone game pieces that his fingers knew so well. When he began taking them up, he was loathe to disturb them from the positions that they had been put in by his late brother. He felt as if he were erasing a part of his existence, of the mark he left upon the world.

In the end he sat staring at the game board, seeing it but not at the same time. He thought upon all of the games he played with his young brother, teaching him the rules and tricks to beat his opponent.

It appeared to not have been enough.

Malik’s breath caught in his throat and he shoved the thought from his mind, blindly sweeping the game pieces into their pouch and tying it shut. He placed it atop his meager traveling satchels. There were only two and they were mostly filled with robes and spare weapons.

The process of packing had been a tedious one. Adjusting to only having one hand was taking longer than Malik had anticipated. He found himself trying to reach for items with his left, only to pull at the bandages, which strained on the still fresh stitches and sent him into waves of agony. A few times he grew so frustrated that he threw whatever he was trying to open across the room. He would immediately regret his actions and shamefully retrieve the item, often with more difficulty than before.

Malik found his balance painfully off and he often overcorrected himself to make up for that. This made for weaving steps and standing up from the floor was often an ordeal. He was constantly awash with anger, at his own incompetence, at whatever he tried to do, at the man who had caused him such pain. Actions that he did without a second thought were now torturously difficult. He had to think of every action  ahead of time, plan his actions. He had to open the door before he picked up whatever he wanted to carry through it, he had to put a weight on the opposite page of a book to keep it open as he read. Such small things became overly burdensome and Malik had to force himself to move slower, to be more diligent than he already was.

His thoughts haunted him in sleep and he tossed and turned, jarring his still fresh wound and sending him into throes of agony. The lack of sleep drove him to the edge of his irritability, making his disability more crippling than it ought due to his frequent outbursts.

When he woke at night, he found himself reaching to grab hold of the man who he knew was not there. It was such an unconscious motion, such an innate desire to have that bastard near him in sleep. He cursed himself every time he found himself craving his warmth, his arm about his waist. Even his dreams were plagued by that damned Assassin. They were either nightmares, leaving Malik in a cold sweat or they woke him, hot and desiring nothing more than his touch. It was the latter dreams that made Malik the angriest.

His mind wanted nothing to do with Altaїr. He wanted to hurt the man, to see such horrible pain in his amber eyes. His body, however, craved him. Craved his touch, craved his sex. Malik was repulsed by himself, every time his body betrayed him, every time he was awoken aroused by even the thought of the man.

Every night he was plagued with this. He stayed awake as long as he could, to try to keep these dreams, these nightmares at bay. When he did sleep, he woke often, tossing and turning.

His irritation, his anger drove him on. It was simpler to dwell upon his hatred towards his traitorous lover than to think upon the loss of his brother. Every time his thoughts turned to Kadar, he forced himself to toil instead upon Altaїr. He felt it easier to be angry at the man than to delve into the emptiness that Kadar’s death had left in his heart. It was all he could do to hang onto that anger. It was all that held him together.

The morning came when he was to depart for Jerusalem, though it arrived far too slowly. Every moment he spent in that empty house left him feeling more numb as he strove to drive away his pangs of profound sorrow. Malik pulled the door to his family home shut behind him, not knowing when he would enter it again. The idea of returning there, to that empty house filled with such recent memories, was too painful to comprehend. He had not even dared enter Kadar’s room. Nothing could have made him do it. For him the wounds were still too fresh, his brother’s spirit too close.

He turned from the closed door, picking up his two bags and slinging them over his shoulder. Though stronger than he was a week prior when he left the infirmary, he still had not gained all of his strength back. He stepped through the town, the late morning sun beating on the new black robes he wore. It was the first he had worn them outside his house and he felt odd with their weight on his shoulders. The left sleeve he had sewn up to stop its useless flopping at his side.

As he made his way south towards the gate, he passed by many Brothers. Each one lowered his head in a respectful bow. Malik pressed on, the display putting a sour taste in his mouth. If only they knew what he had lost in order to get that robe. Perhaps they did know. Malik cared little.

As the gates came into view, Malik felt a presence approaching. It send a sick chill down his neck and that feeling redoubled when his gaze fell upon a familiar face. He approached with all the purpose in the world.

Malik dreaded his approach, but halted his steps when Abbas stopped before him, barring his way to the gate.

The smug, stern look on his face told Malik all he had to know of what was on his mind. “I told you he was not to be trusted and now you have learned the hard way.”

“Leave me be, Abbas.” Malik’s response may as well have been a long-suffering sigh. This man was everything that Malik did not need at that moment and with every word out of his mouth that feeling grew worse.

“You should have listened to me, Al-Sayf. If you had, none of this would have happened. Your brother-”

Malik’s resolve to be calm and collected broke like every other aspect of his life had. Fully and completely with little hope of getting it back. He grabbed Abbas’s front, dropping his bags in the process. His fist balled in the cloth of the lower rank robes, he pulled the man forward, almost dislodging his feet from the ground. Abbas had to catch himself from falling to his knees with the force of it. Malik’s voice was dark and soft with fury, pent up after so many days of letting it boil deep in his chest. “You think I do not regret it? You think I do not spend every moment hating everything about that damned man?” Suddenly sick of the other man’s shocked and cringing face, Malik shoved him away, sending him stumbling back two paces. His resolve was strong, tone clear and unwavering. “They were my decisions and I will live with their consequences.”

Abbas had the gall to step forward again, though he had lost some of the strength in the conviction that he held before. “But it was all Altaїr-”

“Leave me be, Abbas,” Malik cut him off with a note of finality.

“But Malik-”

Malik drew himself to his full height, clenching his fist as he bore down upon the insolent Assassin. “You will address me by my rank and you will respect my words, Sofian.”

Abbas scowled at him like a rebellious youth would to a scolding parent. This dissolved in an instant and he stepped away, reluctantly bowing his head. “Dai,” he said through clenched teeth, dismissing himself from Malik’s presence.

\---

The Bureau was empty, strangely cool despite the summer heat. Little remained from the Rafiq before him save a few scattered books, an empty game board, and the cushions meant for visiting Assassins to rest upon.

To his great shame, Malik had to find the secret entrance to the Bureau in order to enter it. With his arm gone, there would be no possible way for him to climb the ladder to the rooftop as he once did with such ease. He dared not dwell upon his loss of mobility, instead focusing on unpacking his meager possessions.

As evening drew close, Malik found himself seated at the game board, carefully laying out his stone game pieces. He mindlessly played, simply making each side take moves without any thought or strategy. When he became aware of the positions of the pieces, he drew a sharp breath, his chest constricting painfully. It was the same arrangement that he and Kadar had left it in before their mission.

Malik stood abruptly, turning away from the board. There were few things he could handle, and being reminded of his failure as an instructor for his brother was one of the biggest. He stole into his new living chambers: a simple room with an open hearth, bedding, and a shelf secured to the wall to keep his possessions. There was a clothing trunk there as well, containing within it his new black robes. He felt too weak after his long journey to be a Dai. He felt too useless without his arm. He felt too inadequate, given his track record with teaching. First Tariq, then Kadar. All his teachings had been for naught. How could he be expected to lead all of the Assassins in the entire city of Jerusalem?

Busying himself with building a small fire in the hearth and filling the kettle to make tea, Malik forced his mind to go blank. He had been ruminating ever since he had come to his senses in the surgery. It left his stomach feeling sick and his chest empty. Even in sleep he was haunted by his mistakes, by the what-ifs. The only reprieve he was able to find was in meditation.

He sat once again at the game table, steaming cup of herbal tea clenched in his hand. He looked over the position of the pieces with a new eye.

“Always know where you are open and vulnerable,” he told the empty space in front of him, his voice quiet and distant. He took up a piece from the opposite side of the board. “Block the opponent from advancing before he sees your weak spot and retaliate immediately.” As he spoke, he moved the piece and took one of his own players. “See? Your defense is already stronger and you will last till the end of the game.”

Suddenly a wave of remorse hit him like a blow to the chest. Perhaps if he had only said those words to Kadar the last time they played, he would have survived. If the Novice messenger had taken just that much longer to arrive with the mission, he would have been able to utter those words and save his life.

If only he had. If only he had been a better brother, a better teacher, a better man.

If only he had kept his brother far away from the influence of Altaїr. If only he had taught him with more force, with more conviction.

He stood from the game board, leaving the pieces as they were. He retreated to his new quarters and sat upon the simple mattress that was his new bed. It did not smell like home. He never knew if it would. He had no more home. His brother had been his home and, though Malik was loathe to admit it freely, so had Altaїr.

Malik drank his tea. He knew it would be long before he was able to shut his eyes and succumb to his haunting dreams. Exhaustion pulled at the back of his eyes from the long journey, but he dared not shut his eyes just yet. The pain was still too close, the memories fresh and scathing. His bed was painfully empty and he still cursed himself for desiring that man, that traitor.

The next morning, Malik woke with yet another fitful rest behind him. He sought out his contacts that day, needing to know just how far his influence stretched in the city. Men passed by the Bureau, greeting him as the new Rafiq and Dai and bringing with them news of the happenings in the city. One man came by asking if there was a duty to perform for the Brotherhood.

Malik reluctantly took up his offer. “There is some unfinished business to be taken care of in Solomon’s Temple. There is a caved in wall that leads to the treasure room. Take some men and open up the passage. Inform me at once when it is traversable.” Malik pulled out a map of the city and showed the man the approximate position of the fallen wall, the very same that Altaїr had been thrown through.

As the contact bowed his head and retreated from the Bureau, Malik sighed. He would give his brother all the respect he was deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because I'm moving and internet will be uncertain for at least a few days!
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 28: Mourning in Memoriam


	28. Mourning in Memoriam

The rubble surrounding made way for a darkened entryway, the debris of the ancient soft stone crumbling underfoot. It felt an ominous void, filled with death and decay. Malik stood at its entrance, a great foreboding overcoming him. He was unsure if he were afraid of the Templars still being in the temple, or of facing his own fears of what he knew he would find inside.

He had gathered a few of the Assassin contacts to aid him to the site that they had cleared for him, to escort him in his enfeebled state. Malik steeled himself and stepped forward, motioning for the men accompanying him to stay behind. He had to do this on his own. He had to complete his mission. He had to see his brother to safety.

The darkness enveloped him, the torches left by the Templars long burnt out. The thick stream of light from the broken entrance was the only source of light in the treasure chamber. He stepped forward, beyond the beam of light. His footsteps stirred up dust from centuries of the temple sitting unused.

He fancied he heard a scrape of metal, but when he turned to look, he was alone. The echo of Robert de Sable’s order still rang clear in his ears as if it were still echoing around the high stone chamber. Malik took another step, haunted by the sounds of battle ringing off of the damp walls, of the sound of blades meeting flesh, of the breath of life leaving a body, never to return.

Gaze wandering about, still adjusting to the darkness, Malik saw no standing figures. There were dark stains upon the floor, smeared as though the bodies that bled out had been dragged away. Perhaps some of it was his own blood. Malik’s heart grew heavy as he advanced further, now doubting whether the Templars would leave the body of his brother in peace or if they had taken him to deface in the name of revenge.

No, he firmly told himself. They may be on a different path than his own, but they were not evil men. Not innately so at least. There was evil on both sides, and if there was good on one side, Malik was sure there was also good on the other. It was the laws of human kind. Men followed those who they see as strong and whether those strong men have good intentions or bad, there is always an underlying purpose. Even evil has the intention of good, it is the method which makes it unspeakable.

Eyes now adjusted to the low light, Malik swept his gaze about the room. For the briefest moment he imagined that familiar face turning up around a corner with a joke upon his lips about how long it had taken Malik to find him. The image flashed across his vision, stark in the darkness. He wanted to believe it. He wanted to live it. But he knew it could never be.

His legs carried him forward, towards the crumpled figure on the floor that his mind refused to acknowledge. He dropped to his knees before it, his hand gripping the dark red stained gray hood. As he pulled it back, Malik’s heart jolted as a rat dashed away, skittering back into the shadows. When he looked back down, empty eye sockets stared endlessly into oblivion, into the space beyond the living.

All that was left of his brother, his only remaining family, were bones eaten clean by rats. It no longer resembled that cheerful face that he had come to admire for how easily a smile graced it. Malik could have denied that it was his brother, but the robes encasing the gnawed bones were certainly his. There was the stitching that Malik had sewn himself when Kadar had come back from practice with a tear in his sleeve, there was the belt that he had been so proud to show off to Malik when he was accepted into the Brotherhood as a full Assassin. It had not been but a few weeks before his last fateful mission that he had taken the leap of faith, becoming a man among the Assassins.

In Malik’s eyes, he had earned that title long ago.

Something tickled at Malik’s cheek and he made to swat it away, only to find that it was his own tear. The dampness on his wrist looked absurd. He was crying? Malik could not remember the last time he had cried. Perhaps it was in the aftermath of taking his first life. Perhaps it was before he even became a Novice. Perhaps it was upon hearing of his father’s death in some distant land. He was sure he had mourned the loss of his mother as well, but that was far beyond the scope of his memory.

The tears flowed down his cheeks, Malik not knowing what to do with them. His gaze turned upon his sibling, their wetness dripping onto the gray hood.

The despair hit him then. Finally, after weeks of being numb to everything but the pure rage towards his traitorous lover, he was able to mourn for his fallen brother. This had been the last of his family, the one who he had raised as a father would a son.

The wails of anguish that ripped from his chest echoed off of the wet stone walls as he pulled the bones of his brother to his chest with his shaking arm. He shook from it, he felt sick with it. Nothing in the world would be right again. There would always be something missing. His chest hurt, his throat burning as if cut right through. He was blind with his own tears, running down his cheeks and falling to the bones of his kin.

Malik was sure the men outside could hear him, but his thoughts were far from those still living. Unconsciously trying to pull the body closer, the ghost of a thought that remained of his left arm moved but never met the corpse. This jarring thought caught Malik and he was overcome by a second wave of grief.

He would never again be a whole man. His spirit was broken, as was his body. He would never become a Master Assassin like his father, like Altaїr. He would never see his little brother married, fathering little assassins of his own. He was alone.

He would always be alone.

Emptiness clawed at his chest, deep and profound. He was a broken man. He was weak, he was damaged. He opened his eyes, not knowing exactly when he had shut them. The first thing that cleared in his vision was the white embroidery about his wrist, the dark sleeve of the robes that spoke of his rank.

Beyond the despair, there was a glimmer. It was not hope, but purpose. It was all he had left in his heart, his loyalty to the Brotherhood, to all of the Assassins who came before and all who would come after. He was a Dai, a leader, a scholar, a teacher. He still had something to offer. What exactly that was remained a mystery. Al Mualim had thought him not useless. If he could not believe his own Grand Master, then who could he believe?

Empowered by his newfound sense of purpose, Malik steeled himself for what was to come next. With all the care of one holding a most precious thing, Malik hoisted his brother’s body over his shoulder and stood on weakened legs. He felt he had the entire world’s burdens on his shoulders as he stepped back into the beam of light, returning to the land of the living.

He emerged from Solomon’s Temple, resolve hardened and burdened only by bones and cloth. He could go on, he would go on, and he had to go on. The Assassin contacts who had escorted him there gathered around him again, all remaining respectfully silent. They had all lost someone close to them; they had all felt the touch of grief at some point in their lives. They each had their own sorrows to carry. One could not be associated with the Assassin Brotherhood and not have at least one tragic death in their past. One of the men offered to carry Kadar’s body, seeing how Malik was stooped with its weight. Malik respectfully declined. This was a burden he needed to carry himself.

Still weakened after those few weeks of bed rest, the progression towards the graveyard was a slow one. While the path to the treasure chamber had been worked on and cleared, Malik had busied himself with securing a plot for his brother to rest in.

 Malik had thought upon traveling back to Masyaf with his brother’s corpse to bury next to their mother. He ultimately decided against it, wanting his brother close to him rather than away. Their father was most likely buried in an unmarked grave in a far off country with no one to tend to it. They had mourned for him and a ceremony had been held, but with no body, the funeral had lacked many traditions of the mourning process. Malik was sure to do it all right for his own brother’s burial.

They came upon the deep hole that had been dug upon Malik’s request, already laid out with the proper supplies needed for a proper burial. Malik had spared no expense upon this. If he could not honor his own family with a pristine burial, what use was it?

As his contacts watched, Malik wrapped his brother in a shroud of white linen. With a few helping hands, the carefully and lovingly bundled body was lowered into the prepared grave. Malik looked on as the wrapped corpse that had held so much life not long ago was covered in the dirt of the holiest of lands.

The burial party departed once the grave had been filled, Malik following at a slower pace. The next morning, as was tradition, Malik brought flowers and placed them over the fresh grave. On his first day of mourning, as also was tradition, he did not shave his morning scruff off of his cheeks. He would not shave again for another six days. After forty days, he would place a headstone on the grave. Malik had arranged for this already.

The process of mourning and the rituals that went along with it was usually a social event. Malik, however, did it alone. On the third night, he sat in his Bureau and chanted softly to himself, in memory of his fallen brother. He dwelled upon all that was good about him, his strengths and the memories that he held dear. With no tears left to shed, it was all he could do to think upon the good memories. He shoved blaming away from his heart, trying his best to focus only on all the good that Kadar had brought to the world.

He had no mourning clothes to wear, so the black robe that he wore as a Dai had to suffice. Malik had decided to forgo the sacrifices usually performed during the time of mourning. Enough blood had been spilled and Malik could not bring himself to end more lives so frivolously. Malik was certain that the spirit of his brother would understand.

His days were spent in quiet reflection. He thought upon the memory of Kadar, of growing up with him in the Brotherhood. Even though he tried his best to stave it off, there always lurked that deep, dwelling accusation towards his former partner. It pained him that the anger seeped into everything that he did, every thought that he had. He was haunted by the face of that man, almost overpoweringly so.

The arousing dreams had not stopped, his body craving the man. He barely slept, his mind plagued with thoughts of his brother and of Altaїr. Meditating helped little with this, his thoughts too rapid and unrelenting.

It was always the same dream, the same scenario: his back would be shoved against a wall, fully enveloped and powerless in the face of pure lust.

“ _We cannot do this here_ ,” he would say, his words never reflecting his body’s true desires. He wanted the man to take him right where they stood, not caring that at any moment someone could pass by and see their ravenous fornication.

“ _Then where?_ ” Altaїr’s voice would melt in his ear just as he pressed his body to Malik’s. Here, Malik would twist in his bed, his body heating as he slept on. Even in his dreams, the man was irresistible.

In his dream, Malik would reluctantly press Altaїr away, already knowing the answer to that question. It was always the same dream, always the same bodily reactions, the same craving. “ _Up above. I saw a rooftop garden_.”

Without a word, dream Altaїr would pull away and swiftly make his way up the wall to the roof. Malik was always quick to follow. Just as he pulled himself up onto the roof, he would glimpse the tail end of white robes disappearing behind the curtained structure. As Malik approached, he would pull the curtain aside. A lusting hand would grab him and drag him into the wooden structure and they would lapse into a tangle of passion.

“ _I love you, Malik_.”

Those words were always what broke the spell. They brought Malik from his dream of passion and lust, leaving him awake, alone and desperately needing a release. Those words made it clear that it had been a dream. That phrase would never pass by Altaїr’s waking lips. They never had, they never would; it was a basic fact. The illusion would fade and Malik would choke as he touched himself, guilt and anger plaguing him. He would lie awake afterward, breathing heavily and sweating from his brow.

He despised the man, wanted so desperately to hurt him, but in his dreams he only wanted to feel him against his body. He only wanted to hold him close. This man was responsible for the death of his brother and the loss of his arm, and yet he could not stop himself from dreaming of him.

After yet another night of fitful rest and of unsatisfying lusting dreams, Malik dragged himself from his bed and donned his black robe. After two weeks of wearing it about the Bureau as he worked, the weight of it had begun to feel comforting about his shoulders. It felt right and regal, not the burdensome load that it had been before, loaded with emotion and memory of all that he had lost in order to gain it.

He pressed past the door that stood between his living quarters and the Bureau office, startled by the sound of desperately fluttering wings. A pigeon was trying to enter the cage that encased the other messenger birds, a scroll tied to its foot.

Malik gathered the bird and removed the scroll, letting it into the cage once it was free of its message. He unrolled the small paper and read the words, his heart sinking deep into his gut. He crumpled the paper immediately after finishing the last line and tossed it across the room in disgust and fury. He may have accepted his brother’s passing, may have mourned him enough, but he could never forgive the man who had brought him to his death.

The words were etched behind his eyes, haunting him even as he shut them, trying to block out the world.

_The Novice Altaїr is being sent to you on a quest to learn our ways anew. His target is the slave trader Talal. He is to conduct his own investigation. Give him a feather when you see fit. Remember my words to you, Dai Malik. -AM_

“’Treat him as you will, but remember that he is still your Brother,’” Malik quoted Al Mualim under his breath, resting his head in his palm. “I cannot begin to think of how to treat him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Notes: Second stage of grief: Anger (note that the stages of grief do not need to go in order).
> 
> Hey guys! So I'm starting full time graduate school next week, so if I suddenly drop off the face of the Earth, that's where I am. I'm going to try my best to write as much as I can before the tidal wave of work crashes on me, but bear with me if I have to skip a week of updating. I'm going to finish this story damn it, it just might take me a bit longer than expected.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 29: Reunion in Rancor


	29. Reunion in Rancor

Malik’s stomach dropped just as he heard someone roll heavily through the rooftop entrance and onto his doorstep. He had been preparing himself for this moment ever since he received the letter from the Mentor. He turned his back on the doorway, doing his best to busy himself with the bookshelf behind his desk. It was on silent feet that the man approached, though to the trained ear, one could discern the slight disturbance of the upswept dirt on the floor.

“Safety and peace, Malik.” The greeting was soft, hesitant. Perhaps the man truly did feel remorse for his actions. It did little to sway Malik’s blooming anger. His response was cold, final.

“Your presence here deprives me of both.” Malik dared not look the man in the eye. He did not want to see the pity welled in those amber depths. “What do you want?” He was blunt, barely maintaining his composure behind clenched teeth.

“Al Mualim has asked-”

“Asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself.” His response was sharp, demeaning. He wanted his words to cut deep, wanted to see Altaїr bleed with the way they cut. Just like Altaїr had left him bloody in the sparring ring, just how he left him alone and handicapped; he wanted the man to bleed. “So be out with it.”

As Malik paced behind his counter, he caught a glimpse of a silent snarl only partially concealed behind that white hood. So he had been allowed to keep his Master robes after all, but his belt was that of a Novice. It was a sad sight, but somehow it made the pit in Malik’s stomach that desired nothing more than for the man’s failure roil with glee.

“Tell me what you can about the one they call Talal.” His tone was neutral, despite the snarl that still graced those scarred lips.

“It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altaїr. Not mine.” If he had the gall to demand information that he was not due, Malik would do everything in his power to make him work for it.

His response was sharp. It had indeed been a long time since he had been denied something that he had asked for. “You would do well to assist me. His death benefits the entire land.” And there it was, that manipulative negotiation that did nothing but aid only himself.

Malik was quick to call the man out on his ulterior motive. “Do you deny his death benefits you as well?”

“Such things do not concern you.” Going on the defensive, Altaїr steeled.

Unfortunately for him, Malik was too furious to yield. Try as he might, his anger flared and he was unable to contain it. “Your actions very much concern me!” He raised his voice, motioning sharply to the folded up sleeve on his left that covered up what was left of his arm. He fancied he saw Altaїr flinch at the accusation - that jab. Malik was sure it cut him deep, but oddly enough it brought no satisfaction to his chilled heart.

“Then don’t help me. I’ll find him myself.” His words sharp, Altaїr stepped towards the Bureau door.

This was going nothing like how Malik had envisioned. He had wanted Altaїr to beg at his feet, to demand forgiveness. The man who stood before him was but a stubborn child, trying to do everything he could to get a stolen toy back. The toy, in this case, was his rank. Malik sighed, defeated and growing increasingly more exhausted with this interaction. “Wait, wait. It won’t do to have you stumbling around the city like a blind man. Better you know where to begin your search.” Even now, with no love left in his heart for the man, he wanted to be the one to help him. They had been partners for far too long and Malik was far too used to unconditionally giving his assistance.

“I’m listening.”

Malik motioned to the map of the city that he had unrolled on the counter just that morning. “I can think of three places. South of here in the markets that line the border between the Muslim and the Jewish districts. Just of north here the Mosque of this district, and East in front of Saint Ann’s Church, close to the Bab Ariha gate.”

“Is that everything?” He sounded slightly disappointed, which in turn made Malik’s anger flare up once more.

His reply was cold, dark. “It is enough to get you started, and more than you deserve.”

With that, the Novice exited the Bureau in search of information. It was information that Malik himself already knew from the reports from his contacts throughout the city. In the weeks since he had arrived, Malik had ventured forth , collecting the names and favor of the men who stalked the streets and listened in on information that may be important for the Brotherhood to hear.

They were his eyes and ears, sneaking around every back alley and every grand hall and church. They constantly listened for where the Assassins could offer their blades in assisting the people, in assisting peace.

Altaїr did not return to the Bureau until the evening bell sounded through the city, its clamor doing nothing to keep Malik from hearing his entrance. He had expected the man to return far sooner, but perhaps Al Mualim had forbade him from doing certain actions and thus he had to be careful and take his time. Oh, the tides had turned. Now Altaїr was enfeebled while Malik was venturing on, now feeling the loss of his arm less and less in his daily routine. He had changed his habits to cope with having only one arm and for a while he could barely provide for himself. With dedication and quite a bit of stubbornness he had reached a level of comfort with his new permanent predicament.

“Malik.” The greeting was begrudging, carrying with it the weight of all that had transpired and yet it was still maddeningly headstrong.

“Come to waste more of my time?” It was the only defense he had against facing this man, to be standoffish and cold. He would not allow himself to lapse back into his previous default of allowing the man to walk all over him.

Altaїr ignored his quip, getting straight to the point of his return. “I found Talal. I’m ready to begin my mission.”

“That is for me to decide.” Malik was in a position of power over the man and he was dead set on keeping that status. He pulled out the Assassin ledger from beneath the counter and begrudgingly set it on the worn wood surface. He waited for Altaїr to go on, his fiery gaze still not meeting those amber eyes that he knew held such conflicting feelings. They would show stubbornness, to be sure, but uncertainty and guilt as well.

“Very well, here’s what I know.” Altaїr continued on, sharply informing Malik of all the same information that his own eyes and ears in the city had found out over the past few days. “If I can avoid his men, Talal himself should prove little challenge.”

“Little challenge?” Malik scoffed at the man, speaking to him as if he were a young student of the blade and the ways of the Assassins. For he was indeed a Novice in all that he did. He felt he was invincible, strong, and so much more capable than everyone around him. It had always been that way. It was time to teach him his place. “Listen to you! Such arrogance.”

Altaїr shifted where he stood, obviously impatient to get away from Malik’s lecture that he knew would be coming on. “Are we finished? Are you satisfied with what I’ve learned?”

This was a battle that Malik knew he could not win. He could think of no other information that he had overlooked. True to his word, Altaїr had found out what information that he needed. “No, but it will have to do.” Nothing the man did would satisfy him at this point. He opened the box that contained the pristine white feathers and placed one upon the counter before him. As Altaїr stepped forward to retrieve it, Malik finally allowed his gaze to connect with the other man’s, his stare penetrating and challenging. He dared not back down, dared not look away. Malik allowed all of the fury that he held towards the man seep into that stare.

Altaїr held the gaze for a tense moment but Malik could see his resolve shattering as he reached for the feather.

Altaїr turned to exit the Bureau office, but Malik was not quite finished with his verbal barrage. “Rest, prepare, cry in the corner. Do whatever it is you do before a mission, only make sure you do it quietly.” The words dripped with vehemence. Malik could see the man’s shoulders stiffen, saw the internal fight as to whether he would retaliate. The tense moment passed and Altaїr continued on his way, disappearing out the door and into the darkness of twilight.

That evening, Malik lay awake in his bed, staring at the dark ceiling above him. Images unbidden to him circled in that darkness; images that made his heart quiver with anger. There were many visions, but the one that stood out most prominently was the twisted, scarred smirk of a certain man who rested just a few paces away. His anger turned to desires beyond description, as his mind tended to do, which only increased his fury.

Why should he still want this man? Why did he still lust for his touch, even after everything that had transpired between them?

Malik tossed under his light summer sheets, his body betraying his mind. He did not want the man, did not need him, but his body thought otherwise. His hands needed the sweaty, undulating muscles of the man beneath them, his lips needed to caress his hot skin. Just once more, his body told him. Just one more night of pleasure and you can forget this man, you can be free of this torment.

He did not believe this promise, but neither did he protest against his urges. It would be sex, nothing more. Just a release, just a joining of flesh, just that. Nothing more.

Before he knew it, Malik had stood and exited his abode, stepping lightly over the cool stone of the Bureau office on bare feet. He wore only his nightshift over his breeches, the chill of the night pricking at his exposed skin.

He drew himself to the open doorway, the moonlight sending beams down upon a figure clad in white, curled up among the cushions that Malik himself had arranged. No doubt the man held a knife in his sleep, just out of sight behind his turned back. He always did this when he slept alone, Malik knew. He knew it after the first time he had snuck into the man’s house, his intentions similar to those that he held now.

This time however, he would not make the same mistake. He had learned long ago how to wake the man without getting a dagger pressed to his throat. The trick was announcing his approach intentionally. Altaїr could sense someone looming over him, and that was what he defended himself against. A scuff of a foot, a gentle cough: those were what woke him easily and without a blade in hand.

Malik took care to not silence his footsteps as he approached and sure enough, Altaїr stirred where he lay. In his current state of lusting, seeing him like this send a chill down his spine, heat pooling in his lower abdomen. So many times, Malik had seen him in just this state, and his body knew just what would follow. Altaїr would slowly open his eyes and when recognition struck, he would smirk and offer a welcoming, beckoning hand. This time, he did none of those things. His gaze was cold, his motions stiff and unsure. He was hesitant to unclench the blade from his hand as he slowly sat up. He offered no welcoming hand to pull Malik into his embrace.

His brow was knit, uncertainty and wariness seeping into his voice. “Malik…”

“Do not speak, Novice.” He meant the words to be harsh and angry, but instead they came out soft, his body’s lust overpowering even to his iron will. He dropped to his knees over the man, straddling his legs. Still uncertain, Altaїr reached up to place a hand on Malik’s shoulder. Malik saw his intent and he dodged the comforting touch, ignoring the look of unease and guilt plain in those amber eyes. He dipped his head down and bit at Altaїr’s neck, the man’s scent filling his senses. It felt like an eternity since he had been this close to him, had savored that smell of spice, leather and blade sharpening oil. Altaїr was receptive to the ravaging, pulling Malik closer, his hands wandering over the light shift he wore.

Malik was greedy, pressing the man’s back to the cushions and hastily pulling at Altaїr’s pants to try to unfasten them. With only one hand, though, the task proved to be difficult. He pulled at the strings that he had once undone so easily, so automatically, his frustration growing with every failed tug. There was a hand upon his, stilling his useless tugging. Malik dared a glance at the man below him and saw his eyes dark with lust, lips parted ever so tantalizingly. He wanted to meet those lips, to pull their mouths together in an entanglement of tongue as they had done so many times before. But it was different now. Everything was different.

In one swift motion, the tie was undone and Malik’s hand was taken up and plunged beneath those breeches. His hand cupped the man’s sex, already stiffening. Those fingers were then at the tie to his own pants, and a hand teasing his own lusting sex, massaging just the way Altaїr knew made Malik squirm.

Malik caught himself slipping into the role of receiver, slipping under the man’s control. His anger boiled up from the pits lying below the overpowering lust and he sat up with an authoritative air. Altaїr followed, pressing a lusting hand to his heaving chest. His touch wandered to the left, a brush of sympathy crossing the man’s gaze as he made to feel what was left of what his treachery wrought. Malik felt a twinge of pain as the fabric was pulled over his still healing stump.

With a snarl, he twisted and shoved Altaїr’s arm away. It was the last straw. He needed to take what he needed from the man. He did not need his pity, he only needed his sex.

In one swift motion, Malik flipped Altaїr over. In another, he tugged down his pants and swept aside the long tails of his white robes. He could have fought back. Altaїr could have easily turned the tides back, but he did nothing. It was pity and guilt that made him lie still, to take whatever Malik gave him. This only served to infuriate Malik more, so when he oiled his fingers with the bottle that he had brought with him from his dwelling, he did not hesitate to press a finger into the man. He was not gentle when he added a second digit and then a third, Altaїr clenching his fists around the cushion he lay upon. But he never uttered a complaint save for a few grunts of discomfort.

When he was sufficiently stretched out, Malik did not hesitate to oil his own sex and slowly press himself in. This he did with more care, waiting for Altaїr to unclench his muscles before he continued on. He bit his lip at his own sentiment. Ever since he had seen the fall of his brother, he had wanted to hurt the man. Now that he was in a position to do so, he found that he could not. He was angry, yes, but somewhere deep in his chest he still cared for the man.

He rested his chest on Altaїr’s back and sucked lustily at the back of his neck as he waited for the man to adjust to his intrusion. He could hear the man pulling in breaths below him, and then a hand covered Malik’s head, fingers dragging through his mussed black hair. A lusting moan was Malik’s cue to begin moving, and so he obeyed. He drew himself almost all the way out of the man before pressing once again into that tight crevice. This brought out yet another moan. Malik thrust deeper, harder, now holding himself up with his arm pressed against his treacherous partner’s back.

All at once the anger overcame his compassion and he thrust into the man, the motions punishing and hard. With each one, Altaїr released a sharp moan. Malik was unsure if they came from pain, from pleasure or from both. He cared little in that moment, focusing his whole body on his undulations, on the sex.

Malik clenched his eyes shut and was shocked to find the corners of his eyes stinging with tears. What he had thought was sweat gathering on his cheeks and dripping from his chin had actually leaked from his eyes. He blinked them away but still they came, as hot and angry as his own heart. He had betrayed himself by going to Altaїr. He had given in to his bodily urges, had gone against every conviction that he made himself hold on to ever since the man had betrayed him. He was not just angry at the moaning, panting man receiving his thrusts; he was angry at himself as well.

He increased his speed, the noises issuing from Altaїr now purely pleasurable, though he still gripped the cushion below him. Appearing to realize how quickly Malik was reaching his finish and also noticing that Malik had no intention to help him along, Altaїr took to pulling at his own sex as Malik continued mercilessly pounding into him.

They both reached their climax together, riding out their orgasms with relishing moans. Exhaustion overtook them both and they collapsed, breaths coming hot and heavy. Malik was the first one to come to himself, the tears staining his cheeks cooling. Hastily, he pressed himself away from the man below him, standing and turning his face to hide the shameful wetness.

He knew Altaїr reached for him, knew there was a questioning look in his half-lidded and still guilt-stricken eyes. It was all clear in his voice when he weakly called out. “Malik-”

But Malik would not hear it. He could not. He dare not. Stepping away on shaking legs, spent from his exertion, he quickly made his way back to his own bed. As he lay amongst his already tossed sheets, he could not help but ask himself why. Why had he gone to the man? Why had he felt so compelled to exert his authority over him? He wiped the salt from his cheeks, from the scruff about his chin.

If he had to pull pleasure from the man who had cost him so much, he knew he was a broken man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Malik doesn't know what he wants. Man, I had been waiting quite a while to write this chapter. When I was actually writing it, I had to stop myself from making it seem like it was a rape situation. That was not my intention at all - It was just super emotionally charged act. I hope that came across.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse, Chapter 30: Refusal in Rest!


	30. Refusal in Rest

Malik woke from yet another fitful night. He had thought that after having his lust released by the very man who tormented him that he would be able to sleep for a full night. It proved to be much the opposite. His anger towards himself was unrelenting, his thoughts permeating every bit of rest that he tried to take. All he could think of was his anger and the silly thought that perhaps he would sleep better if he had Altaїr’s arms about him.

The first rays of light were beginning to peak into his one small window of his dwelling within the Bureau. Reluctantly, Malik stood and stoked a fire to begin water for his morning tea. Once he had a steaming cup in hand, he exited his room to begin his morning chores in the Bureau. He fed the birds, he dusted the countertop, he refilled the ink well and made sure his quills were sharp. He happened a glance upon the cushions outside the office and found Altaїr still sleeping soundly, his back turned as it had been the night before.

Anger boiled up in his chest upon seeing the man look so peaceful. He hated the man for sleeping so well. In a moment of clarity, Malik found all his hatred towards the man utterly ridiculous, but in the next he knew that he was justified in his anger. It was not the fact that Altaїr slept well or that there was pity and guilt in his eyes when they were in their act of lust. He could not fathom to think upon all that the man had done to him, so he could only dwell upon the small things that angered him.

The morning wore on, Malik worked on the maps that he had been drawing and reviewed the information that his contacts had gathered the day before. Malik jolted when he heard the scuff of boots outside his Bureau door, but when he looked he barely caught the tail end of white robes as Altaїr climbed to the rooftop.

It was late afternoon when Malik was startled again. This time, however, it was not by Altaїr, but by the bells in the city bells all at once clanging noisily. A sense of dread overcame him at the alarm. He knew exactly who had caused the stir. Just to be sure, Malik barred shut the rooftop entrance. It would not do to have the swarming guards dropping in. Malik was sure he would be able to handle one, but more than that and he would be in trouble.

The bells died off about an hour later and only then did Malik open the entrance back up. As soon as he set his quill to paper though, he heard the man he had been expecting drop into his Bureau.

The man walked into the office on silent feet, but his heavy breaths gave him away. He must have been running from the guards for a while. Malik glanced up from his quill, taking in his appearance in an instant. He was spattered with blood, though not his own and a few pieces of hay stuck under his belt.

“Altaїr!” He exclaimed, sarcasm dripping heavily from his excited words. It was all he could do to keep the fury from his voice. “Wonderful to see you return to us! And how fared the mission?”

Altaїr seemed to catch the falsity of the camaraderie but chose to ignore it. “The deed is done. Talal is dead.”

“Oh I know, I know. In fact, the entire city knows!” Malik let his anger boil over into his words. “Have you forgotten the meaning of subtlety?” He slammed his hand down on the counter, but the action though loud did not make the man flinch. Altaїr’s shoulders were tense but he was still standing firm.

“A skilled Assassin ensures his work is noticed by the many.” All Malik could hear were excuses, childish and without weight.

“No, an Assassin maintains control of his environment!” His raised voice was only matched by Altaїr’s carefully calm words. He needed to be taught a lesson. That was why Al Mualim had sent him on such a frivolous mission, was it not? To teach him the ways of the Assassin as if he were but a Novice.

The words appeared to not sink in, which only infuriated Malik all the more. “We can argue the details all you like, Malik, but the fact remains I’ve accomplished the task set to me by Al Mualim.” He was stubborn, cocksure, and needed to be cut down from his high horse. But now was not the time. Malik was not sure anytime would be the right time. His prospects looked too bleak, his blight hopeless.

Malik was suddenly exhausted, his rage calming down to a dull simmer. He took out the Assassin ledger and let it fall to the table. “Go then. Return to the old man. Let us see with whom he sides.”

“You and I are on the same side, Malik.” But he did not want to hear those words. He did not want to stare into those angry amber eyes, did not want to feel something stirring deep within him that was anything but anger. He turned his back on the man, silence his only reply.

\---

Evening fell upon Jerusalem and Malik retreated to his room to sup and rest. He was exhausted. He had not gotten a proper night’s sleep in days and finally meeting with Altaїr after everything the man had done- it left him completely spent and worn.

Even though his eyes burned with the need to sleep, when he lay down to rest it would not come. His mind was relentless in its ruminating, thinking upon every mistake he had taken that day in Solomon’s Temple. He thought upon how hopeless he was now, with only one arm, no family left to him. He was angry, furious, but it was so exhausting to feel that all the time. He just wanted a release, just wanted to sleep.

Malik had thought that being with Altaїr, that giving in to his bodily cravings would put him at ease. It had been a mistake, he knew. It had been a frivolous thought, born from a man desperate for anything but the despair and dark hole of fury that haunted every waking moment. Unfortunately, his waking moments were making him sleepless.

He lay awake in the dark, all of these thoughts swarming in his head. The silence was pressing in on him, until purposefully scuffing footsteps approached his door. The hinges creaked, but there the footsteps stopped.

“Malik.” Altaїr’s voice was soft, not entirely selfless in its underlying desire. Malik did not move, did not respond. He dared to come into his room? “Malik,” Altaїr continued, “I know you well enough to tell when you are asleep or not.”

Malik’s reply was gruff and mocking. He was in no mood to deal with this man. “What do you want, Novice? A warm drink to help you sleep?”

“No.”

Malik’s response was sharp, his annoyance easily reaching his threshold. “Then what?” His question received no reply save for silence. He flipped gently to his other side, staring at the man’s outline in the doorway, the moonlight bright beyond him. “If you need nothing, then leave me.” Altaїr advanced closer, but Malik was ready for it. There was a sharp scrape of metal on stone, a blade glistening in the moonlight. Altaїr was not the only one to sleep with a dagger at his side. “I said _leave_.” The man would get no more warning than that.

“What about last night?” Defiance and temptation dripped from Altaїr’s soft words, but Malik would not give in. He could not.

“Last night was a mistake.” He was firm in this, his conviction never stronger. “You were- have always been – a mistake.” Those words hurt to say, tore at his chest, but he believed them to be true. Knowing that this battle would never be won, Altaїr ducked out of the room, his movements now silent.

Malik dropped his blade, letting it clatter to the stone floor. He twisted in his bed in silent anguish and was yet again unable to sleep.

\---

The next morning went by like any other one. He woke, got his tea, and made sure his office was all was organized and ready for a day of work. Malik fumbled through this, his body more tired than he had been in many years. If he did not get sleep soon, he knew he would eventually lose his mind. At this point though, having no mind at all would be such a relief.

But no, Malik told himself. He was not living for himself, but for the Brotherhood. That had always been his intent, had always been his lot in life. He would guide his Brothers, his fellow Assassins into an age of peace. If he gave up now, his whole life would have been for nothing. He was a Dai, a leader of Jerusalem from behind closed doors. He had a dire responsibility in that duty which was given to him by his most respected Mentor. He would follow the orders given to him, follow the Creed. That was what he had left to him. It was not much, but it was enough to keep going.

Malik’s head pounded at his temples, his eyes ached. But this was nothing. Physical pain was nothing. It was the sense of betrayal that he still held deep in his chest that hurt the most. His trust, already difficult to earn, had been torn in two. All he could do was move on from there, forget his past mistakes and keep going.

It was then that his past passed by the open doorway to his office. Malik was too exhausted to react, simply rubbing his aching temple as he focused on the work before him. He knew that Altaїr was concerned for him. He knew how terrible he looked and just how Altaїr knew the signs of his tiredness.

“I will return to Masyaf with news of my success.” Altaїr’s tone was neutral, but Malik knew that he was trying hard to conceal the concern that was heavy upon him. He knew the man too well to not see that.

“Go then. I told you to leave yesterday. Do not keep our Mentor waiting.” Malik did not bother to look up at his former partner, so far fallen from grace.  He lingered and Malik knew there was more Altaїr wanted to say. He stole a glance at the white robed man, shifting where he stood in the bright doorway. Seeming to come to some conclusion over his own inner turmoil, Altaїr simply nodded and departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being a day late! Internet at my house has been a horror story. I'm updating this from a coffee shop down the street.
> 
> Oh man, you don't know how hard it was for me to write Malik's line of refusal. Dang. Broke my heart a few times over. But it won't last forever! There is still hope yet in this darkness.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 31: Reconciliation in Relation!


	31. Reconciliation in Relation

Weeks passed and Altaїr came and went once again, another name, another bloody feather. Malik lay awake, the latest note from Al Mualim still clutched in his hand. It was a response to one of the letters that Malik had written himself to the Mentor. His men had found out about the funeral time and place of Majd Addin, but more importantly that Robert de Sable would be attending. Malik had seen Robert’s men, recognized their white robes with those blood red crosses on them. Seeing them appeared to put Malik’s anger in the right place. It was anger towards their enemy, towards the men who had taken the death blow to his brother, had cut his arm and left it beyond repair.

Malik stared at the ceiling as he lay in his bed, now no images angrily flashing by his vision. He thought upon an interaction that he had had with Altaїr upon his previous visit, when he was to find and kill the very man who was to be buried in not two day’s time. The memory was still so vivid in his mind even weeks after the event had transpired.

Altaїr had returned to the Bureau, bearing only a tiny piece of information for Malik. Unsatisfied, Malik tried to send him from the Bureau but upon turning to leave, Altaїr paused.

“Malik.” Altaїr stood with his back turned, posture stiff and unsure. He no longer carried himself so high and mighty, seeming to finally realize his position.

Malik sighed, letting his anger simmer. “What do you want, Novice?” The title barely made the man flinch and he did not strike back as he had earlier that day.

There was a pause, Altaїr appearing to gather himself before speaking. He still did not make a move to look to his former partner, still standing with his back to Malik. “You have never been someone who I used.”

This caught Malik off guard. Where was he going with this? What had brought it on? “Your meaning?”

Now those amber eyes turned towards him, but dared not make direct contact with Malik’s piercing stare. He was no longer afraid or too angry to look upon the man who had betrayed him, but stared unrelentingly at him instead. Altaїr’s voice was soft and even, his posture humble. It certainly was a side to Altaїr that Malik was not used to seeing. “You once accused me of using you to simply warm my bed.”

Malik gave another sigh. “Altaїr, that was years ago.”

“Regardless.” Now he stepped closer, slow steps silent in the cool room. “I have never thought of you as an object of my desires. You have always been my equal. Malik-” Now he reached a hand towards him, meaning it to be an offering of peace, a need to touch the man in reassurance. Malik however brushed Altaїr’s arm away, though softly. It was not a gesture of anger, but it was Malik’s way of silently spurning such an intimate contact so soon. His forgiveness was not so easily won. Altaїr took this in stride, though Malik knew that somewhere, the gesture had hurt the man. Altaїr continued softly, “I did not realize this until my arrogance cost you so much. You have been my equal for as long as we have been Brothers. We can never go back to what we were before. I know that. Just know that I do not look down upon you.”

Malik glanced away, not able to keep his even stare. Here the man was, saying the words that he had always wanted to hear. For so long he had lived in this man’s shadow, tried to get out from under it and now- now Altaїr was admitting that they had been equals all along? Was this supposed to be an apology? Malik grit his teeth, staring at the dusty counter. “You cannot look down upon me, this is true, but we are not equals.” He glanced up at the man, at his vulnerable, wide amber eyes. Altaїr appeared to flinch at Malik’s hard gaze, unrelenting in its coldness. “You have disregarded all that we stand for and for that you are little above a traitor. I am a Dai, and you are still but a Novice.” His words were biting and each one appeared to be a blow for the man standing before him. “Even if you were a Master, I would still be of a higher rank. If Al Mualim deems you able to redeem yourself, then I must allow you to continue to work for the Brotherhood. That does not mean that I have to accept your redemption.”

Altaїr furrowed his brow, his voice pleading. “Malik-”

Malik stood at his full height, though he was no taller than the man, his response sharp, biting, commanding. “I am a Dai, Novice. You will address me as such.”

Anger and frustration suddenly burned in those amber eyes. Altaїr bowed his head, reluctant and stiff. “I will return to my mission, Dai.”

Malik tilted his head back haughtily, his every gesture emanating his high position, his superior rank. “Go then. Do not return until you have something useful to report to me.”

Malik shook his head as he lay awake in his Bureau, the memory fading away. The man certainly had changed. Somewhere along the line, Altaїr had come to realize that he indeed needed to make amends. Perhaps he realized how selfish he had become after attaining the title of Master Assassin. Perhaps he could see how much he had used everyone around him to his own benefit while giving nothing in return, to Malik most of all.

He was remembering the ways of the Creed, remembering who he was brought up to be and not who he became. Perhaps he could find redemption.

\---

So it was of this mind that Malik was able to greet his former partner when he arrived in his Bureau two days after he received that letter. “Safety and peace, Altair.”

 “Upon you as well, Brother.” There was a certain amount of relief in that greeting. Malik was not the only one to feel the barest amount of peace upon setting eyes on the other man.

 After three months, countless nights of unrest, anger that felt like it could not be quenched, and of mourning his losses, the man who had truly been at the heart of the cause of Malik’s grief had returned to the city. Robert de Sable. “Seems fate has a funny way with things.” Malik’s joke was mirthless, the sad smile that crossed his lips not going unnoticed by the man standing before him, once again fully clad in his Master attire. Malik had forgotten how majestic he looked in those full robes and that wide, decorated belt. He was dusty from the road, true, but the leather belts that strapped his weapons close to his body had been recently oiled and gleamed richly. He knew that the Assassin had polished them himself. This was the man who Malik remembered before he had descended into utter arrogance. This was the man he had first given himself to and who he cared for so deeply.

“So it's true then. Robert de Sable is in Jerusalem.” Malik could see the stirrings of darkness beyond those amber eyes, of bloodlust.

“I've seen the knights myself,” Malik offered to the man. Altaїr truly did see himself as equal with Malik and for once, Malik saw that they indeed stood on the same ground.

That darkness dwelling in Altaїr’s eyes carried over into his words. “Only misfortune follows that man. If he's here, it's because he intends ill. I won't give him the chance to act.”

“Do not let vengeance cloud your thoughts, Brother. We both know no good can come of that.” The words were not accusatory and nor did they carry with them the air of a lecture. It was merely a reminder for the man to keep himself in check. Altaїr truly had grown since his last visit and Malik’s understanding of that growth only expanded with his next words.

“I have not forgotten. You have nothing to fear. I do not seek revenge, but knowledge.”

It was astounding, the transformation Altaїr had gone through over those three months, and even over the few weeks that had transpired since his last visit. “Truly you are not the man I once knew.”

“My work has taught me many things, revealed secrets to me. But there are still pieces of this puzzle I do not possess.” There was something the man was not telling him, something that compelled him to investigate further. Malik needed to know what it was.

“What do you mean?”

Altaїr was forthcoming in his explanation. It was quite the turn around after having the man tell him nothing of his missions, as he had been prone to do after he became a Master. “All the men I've laid to rest have worked together, united by this man. Robert has designs upon the land, this much I know for certain. But how and why, when and where- these things remain out of reach.”

What the man was saying, it made no sense. “Crusaders and Saracens working together?” They fought against one another in this war, why would they join forces?

“They are none of these things, but something else: Templars.”

That was not right. It could not be right. “The Templars are part of the Crusader army.”

“Or so they'd like King Richard to believe. No, their only allegiance is to Robert de Sable in some mad idea that they will stop the war.” The more Altaїr spoke, the more confused Malik became. None of this made sense, none of the pieces fit together.

Malik shook his head, hardly able to comprehend let alone take the man’s words for truth. “You spin a strange tale.”

“You have no idea, Malik.” He was exasperated, but so strong in his conviction that Malik had no choice but to trust him. If they were to be equals, then they had to listen to one another.

“What then?”

Altaїr spoke of what information he had already gathered in the city prior to dropping into the Bureau. “Robert and his Templars walk the city. They've come to pay their respects to Majd Addin. They'll attend his funeral, which means so will I.”

“What is this, that Templars would attend his funeral?” Not even Malik’s contacts had come up with this information and they had been searching the city for days. It seemed that Altaїr’s special skill, his Eagle Vision, was indeed something to be revered. Altaїr no longer held onto it like a trophy in his arrogance, but as a tool to help the Brotherhood.

“I have yet to divine their true intentions, though I'll have a confession in time. The citizens themselves are divided. Many call for their lives. Still others insist that they are here to parley, to make peace.”

“Peace?” Malik spat the word, incredulous. If the Templars were involved, how could they even think of peace?

“I told you. The others I've slain have said as much to me.”

Malik’s head spun with this new information, conflict arising in his own convictions against the Templars. “That would make them our allies. And yet we kill them.”

Altaїr had had more time to contemplate the meaning of the Templar’s actions and he was steadfast in his next words. “Make no mistake, we are nothing like these men. Though their goal sounds noble, the means by which they'd achieve it are not. At least that's what Al Mualim told me.”

“So what is your plan?”

“I'll attend the funeral and confront Robert.”

Malik nodded. “The sooner the better. Fortune favor your blade, Brother.” Altaїr bowed his head slightly, acknowledging Malik’s higher rank before he stepped towards the Bureau office door. He stopped however and turned back.

“Malik. Before I go, there's something I should say.” These words were as determined as the steps he took back towards Malik.

“Be out with it.” Malik tossed his hand in an offering to have the man speak.

“I've been a fool.”

This caught Malik unaware, unsure what the man was up to. “Normally I'd make no argument, but what is this? What are you talking about?” Upon hearing the man’s next words, Malik’s chest clenched and somewhere along the way he appeared to forget how to breathe.

“All this time, I never told you I was sorry. Too damn proud... You lost your arm because of me, lost Kadar. You had every right to be angry.” Malik covered what was left of his left arm with his hand, a memory of pain and horror flashing through his mind. The bloody saw, his disembodied arm, his brother’s bones encased in blood crusted robes. Every thought he had of the man was running rampant through his head. In an instant of clarity, he knew exactly how to respond.

“I do not accept your apology.”

“I understand.”

“No. You don't.” That soft denial brought Altaїr’s almost despairing gaze to a questioning hope. “I do not accept your apology because you are not the same man who went with me into Solomon's Temple. And so you have nothing to apologize for.”

Altaїr was speechless, his mouth hanging slack in shock. It took him a moment to find his voice again, but even then it was weak and filled with awe. “Malik…”

Compelled to speak his mind, Malik continued. “Perhaps if I had not been so envious of you, I would not have been so careless myself. I'm just as much to blame.” It was the conclusion that he had come to, after so long being unbearably angry at his lot in life, at the man standing before him.

“Don't say such things.” Altaїr wanted to shoulder the guilt all by himself, Malik knew. But if they were to be finally on equal ground, they had to share both the good and the bad of all that transpired between them.

“We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer, we grow stronger.” It was all Malik could give him. It was not true forgiveness, but it was what the man deserved: a second chance as equals.

“Thank you, Brother.” The relief the man emanated was almost tangible.

“Rest if you need to, Altair, that you might be ready for what lies ahead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally they have come to an accord! Damn, that conversation they have in the game gets me every time. There is so much character development! I hope I was able to capture the essence of it.
> 
> On a side note, I finally have internet at my apartment! So updates will hopefully resume their normal schedule of going up on Fridays.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse! Chapter 32: Mendaciousness in Mentor.


	32. Mendaciousness  in Mentor

It had been a trap. Robert de Sable had put a woman in his place and by the look of Altaїr standing before him, stooped and exhausted from battle, a very capable shield maiden.

Altaїr shook his head at Malik’s shock upon hearing that a woman had taken the Templar Grand Master’s place. “For now we must focus on Robert. We may have thinned his ranks but the man is clever. He goes to plead his case to Richard and Salah’aldin, to unite them against the common enemy- against us.”

Malik could not believe the words. It went against everything that he knew to be true- or at least what he thought to be true. “Surely you are mistaken. This makes no sense. These two men would never-”

“Oh but they would,” Altaїr cut him off quickly, his words rapid and so filled with fervor. “And we have ourselves to blame. The men I've killed, men on both sides of the conflict, men important to both leaders. Robert's plan may be ambitious but it makes sense, and it could work.”

Malik took this all in, his thoughts raging. There was one thing he could fall onto: the Creed and the structure of the Brotherhood. “Look, Brother. Things have changed. You must return to Masyaf. We cannot act without our master's permission. It could compromise the Brotherhood. I thought- I thought you had learned this.” He did not mask his disappointment. Perhaps the true man, without his mask of arrogance, had emerged and gone astray.

“Stop hiding behind words, Malik! You wield the Creed and its tenets like some shield.” Altaїr’s words bit at Malik, but he could not bring himself to believe them. If what he said were true, then everything that he stood for was false. He had been placed into power as merely a puppet for Al Mualim, and Malik could not stomach that thought. “He's keeping things from us, important things! You're the one who told me we could never know anything, only suspect. Well I suspect this business with the Templars goes deeper. When I'm done with Robert, I will ride for Masyaf that we may have answers. But perhaps you could go now.”

“I cannot leave the city.” If Malik was no more than a puppet, then at least he could be dutiful to his own city, his own post.

Altaїr was exasperated at this response, obviously not seeing why Malik was reluctant to follow his every word. “Then walk amongst its people. Seek out those who served the ones I slew. Learn what you can. You call yourself perceptive; perhaps you'll see something I could not.”

“I don't know. I must think on this.” The man was either mad or completely right, and either way left Malik fearful for what was to come.

Seeming to accept this, Altaїr nodded. “Do as you must, my friend. But it's time I ride for Arsuf. Every moment I delay, our enemy gets one step ahead of me.”

“Be careful, Brother.” If nothing else, Malik still cared far too deeply for the man and he let that care seep into his words. He knew that Altaїr heard it, for it was reflected in his response.

“I will be. I promise.”

\---

There had been a table. Malik sat up from where he slouched at the game board in his Bureau, a game still strewn about on its surface as he dozed. Sleep had been coming easier, but Malik still found himself drifting off during the day. It was approaching evening when he came to a sudden realization. After Altaїr had left for Arsuf, he had spent the day thinking upon all that he said and wondering how he could prove it to himself.

Then he remembered: there had been a table in the treasure chamber in Solomon’s Temple and upon it some paper and perhaps a book. A journal.

Malik stood suddenly. Perhaps that book held the answers he sought, if it had not been taken back by the Templars. He retrieved a torch and a flint and steel, every motion filled with purpose. He needed to know the truth. Altaїr had apparently found it out for himself and now it was Malik’s turn to finish the job.

He pulled the white hood of his robes over his head as he exited his Bureau through the secret entrance that led out into a dark alleyway. It was not yet dark, but he would need the torch in the temple. He stuck out, steps swift and sure.

The last he had walked to Solomon’s Temple, it had been with a heart heavy with grief over his brother’s death. He had been seeking the corpse of Kadar. Now he was seeking a way to keep the Assassin Brotherhood from falling out of the pages of history, from crumpling under the treachery of the Templars. He climbed past the rubble that his contacts in the city had moved to uncover an entrance and stepped into the darkness. It was an easy matter to light the torch, Malik having improved his skills in working with only one hand.

The single torch barely sent off enough light to touch the farthest wall, but as Malik stepped deeper into the chamber, the table that he remembered drew into view. Upon it, to his relief and utter astonishment, sat the small leather bound journal. It was worn from seeing so much travel and since untouched, dust having collected on its surface in the months following the retrieval of the Apple.

In its pages, the worst revelation came upon Malik, leaving him with tears of utter betrayal in his eyes. Robert de Sable wrote of Al Mualim, or as he addressed the man in the journal, Rashid ad-Din Sinan. Malik reeled, finally realizing that he had not known the real name of his Mentor, Al Mualim. If he had not told the Brotherhood his real name, what else had he kept secret? Malik read on, the secrets of his Mentor revealed to him by none other than the Assassins’ greatest enemy. He wrote upon the subject of the Apple and of how, when obtained, he would share its power with the very men that their Mentor had sent Altaїr to kill, though the list also included Al Mualim himself. Ten names. The only man besides their Mentor left alive on that list was the famed Robert de Sable who, at this very moment, Altaїr was traveling to.

Within the notebook there was a contract, signed by all ten men that explained how the power was to be distributed, so that all could have a share in ruling over the land. The seal was that of the Templar cross.

Malik felt sick, seeing his esteemed Mentor’s name, scrawled in his own recognizable hand standing next to that of their worst enemy. It was the worst type of betrayal, one where the one doing the betraying lied openly to his disciples and they all took it as pure truth. Because that was the way of the Creed, to not go against orders, to not compromise the Brotherhood. It was part of the creed to follow orders without question while stopping those who would do the same for other leaders. The contradiction lay in front of Malik as if he had never heard the Creed before. But now he saw it for what it truly was: a mess of contradictions that had been exploited by one man for his own benefit.

Everything he knew, everything he stood for… it was all a grand, great lie spun by this man whose true allegiance had never been to the Assassins. But looking back at his recent actions, at exactly who he had sent Altaїr to kill… his allegiance was not to them either. It was only to himself. Al Mualim would have the Apple’s power all to himself with the death of De Sable. His Mentor was a power hungry monster, Malik now understood, and it left him empty, ill.

He would not have believed it, but a few of the passages were written by Al Mualim himself and by now Malik recognized his handwriting as if it were his own. It was definitely by his hand. There was no use denying it. His brother, his arm, the honor of his most beloved and trusted partner… they had all been sacrificed to aid the rise to power of one mad man he had once looked up to as his most esteemed leader. Now it all was crumbling down on his shoulders and the weight of it was almost too much to bear.

Altaїr had been right, but he did not know the extent of the matter. He had only touched on the surface of it, and he was running towards the heart of the fire. Malik could only hope that he would keep his promise to stay safe as he confronted King Richard and the Templar Grand Master himself.

As for himself, Malik knew he had to go to Masyaf. That was where Altaїr would head if he indeed gathered the same information from Robert de Sable that Malik had from the man’s own journal. He would need all the help he could get if he were to confront Al Mualim and the dreaded power of the Apple.

Malik departed Solomon’s Temple, taking with him the journal and all of the trepidation that its contents made him feel. He went directly to the home of his chief contact, a retired Assassin, and relayed what information he could to the man. Though confused, the man nodded. There was a fire of passion beyond his anger at the Mentor’s betrayal and in that instant Malik knew he had the man’s trust.

“We will leave for Masyaf at dawn,” Malik told him. “Inform the other men. Arm yourselves for a battle, for I am sure nothing will stop the spill of blood in this grave matter.” A pallor came over the man, but he nodded again and Malik knew that he could trust him in his conviction. If nothing else, Malik had sustained and built upon the Assassin relations in Jerusalem. The men loyal to the Assassins who resided there were loyal to him and followed his orders without pause. Just the dutiful soldiers they were told to be, following the Creed even though some were not full Brothers. The Creed had to change, Malik knew then, or at least taught differently than it had been under Al Mualim’s reign.

Malik retreated to the Bureau and found he could not sleep. Instead, he poured over the contents of the journal, reading upon all of the powers the Apple supposedly had. It was frightening beyond anything that Malik could comprehend. Illusions? Control? The power to bend someone to the wielder’s will? It all sounded like a tale spun in the stories of old, but perhaps this relic was where those stories emerged from.

In the morning Malik met with his four men, all clad in Assassin robes. Besides his chief contact, the other three were not true Brothers of the Creed, but their loyalty had earned them as much as wearing the white hood. They mounted their horses outside the gate of Jerusalem and headed North with all due speed.

On the fourth day of travel, as they traversed a sheer cliff, a rider in the distance ahead caught the attention of one of the men.

“A rider!” He called, drawing his sword. Over the days, Malik had revealed every detail that he knew about their situation to the men, not willing to withhold information like their traitor leader had. They were all instantly suspicious of the rider approaching with frantic speed. None could be sure just whose side anyone was on, even if the rider wore the robes of a Brother. The horse careened around the corners, ushered on by the rider. Malik drew his own blade and heard the rest of his men follow suit.

The rider approached quickly, but immediately slowed his horse when he saw the team of men with blades drawn blocking the road before him. As he drew closer, Malik recognized the young man’s face. He had been a pupil, from so long ago.

Naji.

“Malik!” There was so much relief to Naji’s call as he moved his horse closer, the poor beast panting and foaming from its hard ride. “Thank Allah I have found you so soon!”

Malik was careful in the way he approached the young Assassin, not lowering his blade. “Naji, tell me why you have come this way and why you have sought me out.” He was suspicious and almost too calm.

“Masyaf,” Naji pointed frantically behind him, “Masyaf is in danger!” He eyed the blades still glinting in the sun. “Why do you draw your blades on me?”

“The Brotherhood has been betrayed from within,” Malik explained to the youth. “There is no way of knowing who is still loyal.”

Naji knit his brow, a horror passing over his eyes. “I do not know that myself.” He looked to Malik and just his determined expression was enough to prove that his words were true. “Just know that I am loyal to you, Dai.”

Malik heaved a sigh of relief and sheathed his blade, the others following suit. “Very well. You have my trust, Naji. Now tell us what you have seen.”

The young Assassin nodded and began his tale. “I was just returning from a mission when I found the city in such a state that I could never describe. Everyone there appeared to be walking in their sleep, both villagers and Brothers alike. It was such sorcery that I never thought could exist. I escaped before the spell could be cast upon me. I was going to go to Jerusalem, to tell you what had happened.”

Malik nodded at this, though worry clawed at his chest. Al Mualim had already begun his plan. “You did well to come to me, Naji. We are on our way to Masyaf now and we need every loyal blade we can get. Our Mentor has betrayed us all, put us all under a spell.”

“What do you mean?” If seeing Masyaf in a state of chaos had not shaken him, that bit of information certainly had. A pallor came over the young man.

Malik was quick to explain. “The relic that I retrieved from Solomon’s Temple, it has the power to control and to spread illusions. He joined with the Templars in order to retrieve it and then betrayed them as well. He now seeks to take over the land by himself, using our bewitched Brothers as his army.”

This shook him even more, but when Naji glanced up, there was a fire behind his eyes. “I will add my blade to yours, Dai.”

A jolt went through Malik’s chest at that look. He saw the same spark of adventure in his eyes as he had in Kadar’s just before they left for Solomon’s Temple.

Pulling his horse abreast with Naji’s, he placed a hand on the youth’s shoulder. His words were grave, his gaze piercing. “Naji, always make sure you keep your sword between you and your enemy. Do not break your defense for anything.”

“Of course, Dai.” That spark was overshadowed with confusion.

Needing to clarify, Malik continued. “The last time I did not follow this advice, I lost an arm. The last time I did not give that advice, I lost my brother. I will not lose my pupil. Remember Tariq.”

“Of course, Dai.” He repeated the words, but this time he was in complete understanding.

Malik turned and called to his men, “Come, Masyaf is only a day away and our Brothers need us.” Altaїr needs us, he said silently to himself, his conviction growing stronger with every beat of his horse’s hooves against the dusty road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dang, we are getting pretty close to the end of the game. No worries, the scope of this story goes far beyond that.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse, Chapter 33: Deranged in Duty!


	33. Deranged in Duty

Masyaf was deserted, or at least it appeared to be so. Malik and his men rode up to the city and dismounted from their exhausted horses, blades drawn immediately. Nothing felt right. Malik turned to Naji, a question in his gaze.

Naji shook his head. “They were all here when I left, walking around like they had no souls.”

“We will find Al Mualim, then,” Malik growled. All sense of love for his Mentor had washed away with every drop of ink written in that journal. Now he was but an enemy to take down, a name on the list. He was but a white feather to be bloodied. They slowly made their way up the hill towards the fortress, every street, every alleyway devoid of its usual bustle of citizens.

They reached an outcropping and suddenly there was a cry from above. It sounded possessed, angry. Then, as if they had just materialized out of nowhere, Malik and his team were surrounded by men. They all wore the robes of Assassins, high rank, low rank and everywhere in between. Malik even recognized a few from seeing them about the city. Their eyes were dark, lifeless, though they held their swords aloft with all of the grace their years of practice gave them.

“Stand down, Brothers,” Malik called to the men surrounding them. He was pleading, trying to get them to lower their weapons and save their lives. “We have all been betrayed. You are bewitched and we do not want to fight you.”

“He will lead you to the light!” One of the bewitched men yelled, his voice filled with rapture.

“Our Master leads us to the light!”

“They have all gone mad,” one of Malik’s men said between clenched teeth.

“Yes,” Malik replied, knowing the man’s words to be truth, “but they are still our Brothers. If you can stop them without killing them, then do so.”

With those words, fighting broke out like chaos after a beehive was cut down. Swords clashed, men yelled, and men fell. Naji stayed by Malik’s side, guarding his left while another man flanked his right. They all worked as a team, fighting as one unit. The possessed men fell to cuts to the leg and blows to the head, but none appeared to be mortally wounded. Malik allowed a bloom of pride to fill his chest. These men indeed were loyal, but not to any Creed. They were loyal to him.

More possessed Assassins streamed down the hill and into the city and in the distance, Malik could hear the echo of fighting. Needing to focus on his own battle at hand, he turned back to the foes still swarming about him and his men. Waves of them came. Once one group had fallen, another took its place. They were relentless in their attacking, but the loyal Assassins proved to be a force to be worth reckoning with.

The other fighting was closer now, much closer. Malik spared a glance over the cliff and saw just what he had been expecting: Altaїr with some men writhing at his feet, but still more surrounding him. As his men finished off the latest wave, Malik drew their attention to the man in need of their help.

A shower of throwing knives filled the air, felling the men surrounding Altaїr. He looked about, startled, until Malik called down to him.

“Altaїr! Up here!”

Altaїr glanced up, relief plain on his face. He dashed up the hill and Malik met him at the top, his men following and standing guard. When Malik got a closer look, he saw that the man was ragged, tears in his robes not repaired and blood spatters both old and new all about him. He had been through a battle, Malik knew. He could see it in the man’s eyes, though it did not cross over into his voice. “You picked a fine time to arrive.” There was the hint of a joke in those words, but underneath that worn phrase, there was thankfulness.

 “So it seems.”

Altaїr seemed to steel himself before he spoke next, a great foreboding in his voice. “Guard yourself well, friend. Al Mualim has betrayed us.”

Malik nodded. “Yes. Betrayed his Templar allies as well.”

Altaїr had not anticipated that answer, his question shocked. “How do you know?”

“After we spoke I returned to the ruins beneath Solomon's Temple.” Malik relayed all he knew as quickly and succinctly as he could. “Robert had kept a journal, filled its pages with revelations. What I read there broke my heart, but it also opened my eyes. You were right, Altair. All along our Master has used us. We were not meant to save the Holy Land but deliver it to him. He must be stopped!”

Understanding and the utmost respect were all that Altaїr’s amber eyes portrayed. He nodded. “Be careful, Malik. What he's done to the others, he'll do to us given the chance. You must stay far from him.”

They truly were equals, but now Altaїr was more than that. He was not better, but he was the leader. The revelation came upon Malik as easily as water to a stream. Altaїr was the leader. “What would you propose? My blade arm is still strong and my men remain my own. It would be a mistake not to use us.”

A decision was made instantly. “Distract these thralls then. Assault the fortress from behind. If you can draw their attention away from me, I might reach Al Mualim.”

“I will do what you ask, Dai.” And there it was. Altaїr stared at him with shocked eyes, understanding the weight of the title just given to him. Malik had called him a Dai, the same title as his own. A leader of the people. His equal.

“The men we face, their minds are not their own. If you can, avoid killing them.”

Malik nodded. “Yes. Though he has betrayed the tenets of the creed, it does not mean we must as well. I'll do what I can.”

The humbleness of Altaїr’s manner both shocked and astounded him. He truly was a leader of the people, a true Assassin of the Brotherhood. “It's all I ask. Safety and peace, friend.”

Malik tucked his hand to his waist and bowed, revising the words he once spat at the man in a blind rage. He knew full well the truth of them and in his voice he carried all of the loyalty for this man who he had gone through so much with. “Your presence here will deliver us both.”

\---

The fighting seemed endless, the Assassins taken over by the power of Al Mualim seeming to keep coming. It was hard to imagine that their Brotherhood had so many men in its ranks. Malik and his men were scraped and bruised, but none had collected any crippling wounds. So far, as far as Malik could tell, they had dispatched with more than four dozen men, leaving them unconscious or otherwise incapacitated. They made their way around the backside of the fortress as Altaїr had instructed. They reached the library and still they fought. Malik saw strange lights flashing from the back garden but focused intently upon keeping the possessed men from ascending the stairs to aid their “Master”.

They fought, the clashing of blades and yelling of men deafening as they echoed through the high ceiling of the library. But all at once, everything fell to silence. Everything fell still.

The men who surrounded them stopped, their eyes glowing an eerie yellow, then dimming. Some fell while others simply held their heads as if in immense pain, though they did not cry out.

“Altaїr,” Malik whispered, though even that sounded loud in the immense silence. He dashed up the stairs and burst through the door leading to the garden. His eyes fell upon the scene, but his mind could not wrap around what he saw.

Al Mualim, lying limp and lifeless in a pool of dark blood, the Apple emanating lines of golden light that stretched out as far as the eye could see, an immense globe seeming to hover above it in the same light. And standing before all of this was the Assassin Altaїr Ibn-La’Ahad.

Malik was struck motionless by this sight, as were the others who had followed him. They all took in this scene, this odd magical projection, their dead Mentor, and the man who had killed him. Struck in awe at the orb floating, Malik was loathe to look away from it. When he did, however, his eyes fell to his former partner, his equal. Altaїr wavered where he stood but before his knees could give out from under him, Malik was at his side, clutching his shoulders with his arm to keep him upright.

“It is done, my friend,” Malik said softly, reassuringly. He turned to catch a glimpse of his partner’s face, but the expression the man wore tore at his chest. His eyes were wide and haunted. These were the eyes of a man who had seen his whole world for what it was: a mass of lies and falsifications covered by a farce of a man he had called Mentor, perhaps even Father.

Altaїr appeared to notice who exactly it was that held him steady, recognition passing slowly over those haunted eyes. He covered Malik’s hand with his own, covered in the cooling and slowly congealing blood of their Mentor. His voice was weak from exhaustion. “Al Mualim was strong. There were so many of him. I must-” he tried to pull away from Malik’s helping embrace, his legs shaking with the effort.

Malik held him steady, refusing to let him go. “Altaїr, you are too injured to-”

“I must finish this, Malik.” He cut him off, not in anger but in haste. “Gather our brothers and tell them to build a pyre. I must make sure that is not another phantom.” Altaїr stole a glance at the dead Mentor’s body. Malik only nodded, not entirely in understanding but trusting in the man entirely. Altaїr pulled away from him, with each step gaining strength. Malik looked on as Altaїr retrieved the Apple, its strange glow dulling before completely dying.

He then kneeled at the side of the dead old man, picking him up as if he were a beloved grandfather who had passed in his sleep. Malik pressed his men away from the door to allow Altaїr passage through the doorway of the library. He continued following Altaїr, shouldering his way past the Assassins finally waking from their stupor and staring at their dead Mentor in horrified awe.

 Malik gathered his men to his side and instructed them to build a pyre. Confused, they obeyed the order and set out down the hill to do his bidding. The men who had been possessed then began asking questions, some frantic, others growing angry. Malik was quickly overwhelmed by them and set out to follow his loyal Assassins. More of the dazed men stood around in confusion, most not knowing exactly what had transpired. They had all come out of a trance, come out from the control that Al Mualim had placed over their eyes like a veil. They all eventually swarmed at the bottom of the cliff below the fortress, looking up as Malik’s men piled wood for the pyre.

With the structure underway, Malik returned to the library to find Altaїr standing with Al Mualim at his feet. Altaїr glanced up at Malik’s approach, gaze distant, but did not speak.

“The pyre is being built,” Malik informed him, keeping his voice respectfully quiet.

Altaїr nodded and pulled the Apple out from the pouch at his waist. “Take this to the Mentor’s study.” Just as his gaze, his voice was also distant. He held out the otherworldly object. It felt altogether too light in his hand when Malik took it. He expected it to glow as it had before out in the garden, but it remained a dull gold. He quickly did as he was told, setting it on the table in Al Mualim’s- no, in the Mentor’s study.

Malik was quick to return to his partner’s side, the man still standing unmoving over the corpse of the man who had lied to them their whole lives. “Altaїr, what are you planning?”

“I will tell our brothers of Al Mualim’s treachery. I will send messengers to the cities. You will ride back to Jerusalem with the news of his death.” He still appeared to be in a worn daze, still not over the shock of actually being the one to kill their Mentor.

Malik nodded. This man had done more than enough to earn his trust after he had lost it those three months previously. “I will depart first thing tomorrow.”

Altaїr shook his head, gaze still distant and unfocused. “No, this message must be sent as soon as possible.”

That was where Malik had to draw the line. He planted himself firmly at Altaїr’s side, placing his hand on the man’s stooped shoulder. “I will go first thing tomorrow,” he reinstated firmly. Altaїr’s gaze finally cleared, really focusing and seeing Malik for the first time since they had gone separate ways in the battle. He nodded once, appearing to see reason in this. After all, Malik had just spent five days traveling from there.

A loyal Assassin approached Altaїr then, worry clear across his brow.

“Is it truly over?” He asked, looking warily at the corpse as if it might come back to life any moment. “Is that sorcerer dead?”

Altaїr looked away, but Malik could see there was sorrow in his eyes. “He was no sorcerer. Just an ordinary man in command of illusions.” He then turned back to the Assassin, now strong with purpose. “Have you prepared the pyre?”

“I have but, Altaїr,” here the man paused just briefly, shifting his feet in discomfort. “Some of the men will not stand for such a thing.”

“Let me handle it.” Altaїr kneeled and scooped the corpse of their traitor leader. He paused then, glancing to Malik as if asking for his leave.

Understanding, Malik bowed his head. “I will send word with the birds of what has transpired. Do what needs be done, Altaїr.”

Without another word, Altaїr exited the library with long, even strides. He was followed by a wake of shocked mutterings and gasps. Malik stole up to the Mentor’s study and set to work. He gathered small scrolls of paper and scrawled a simple message on each:

_Al Mualim has been found to be a traitor. His life has been taken. The Brotherhood remains strong.- Dai M. Al-Sayf._

He sent one to each of the main cities: Acre, Damascus, Alep, and finally to Jerusalem. One of the men he left behind to watch over the Bureau would read it and spread the word.

A distant commotion broke through the eerie silence and drew Malik’s attention. He had suspected that the death of Al Mualim would come as a shock and there might be some backlash. The loyal Assassin had said as much. There was also the fact that burning the dead was something not done even to one’s worst enemy. To burn the body of their revered leader… unspeakable. Whatever the conflict was, Malik had all confidence in Altaїr. If he did not have that by now, then he was sure the Brotherhood would have fallen that day. He returned to securing the notes onto the pigeon’s legs to send them out. He turned once again when he heard soft but quick footsteps. Abbas was there, eyes wide and staring at the artifact on the table.

Malik was wary at the man’s fidgety approach. “Abbas, what are you doing here?”

Abbas’s gaze was only for the Apple, his words awed and soft. “Such power should not be given to a man who has no regard for the Creed.”

“Abbas,” Malik said in warning and reached for his blade, but remembered too late that he had dropped it to go to Altaїr’s aid. He cursed himself silently. A man with no blade was as good as dead if he were attacked. He just hoped that Abbas was not insane enough to try that. The crazed look the man gave did not give Malik much hope on that front.

The wild-eyed man then looked up to him, his shoulders hunched. He was ready for something, but Malik knew not what. “You put your faith in the wrong hands, Al-Sayf. We will all suffer because of it, unless…” In one swift motion, he caught up the Apple in his hand and skipped back a step, the look of pure tyrannical triumph spreading to his cheeks. “I will lead us to glory,” he growled, eyes almost animalistic in their insanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn Abbas. Sheesh.   
> Midterms are a bitch. I haven't written anything for like almost three weeks. Good thing I have a buffer! Also AC4 is taking up much of my free time. I spend so much money on my ship that I haven't had enough money to upgrade my pistols and swords. I guess that says a lot about me.  
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 34: Reluctance in Reign!


	34. Reluctance in Reign

“Abbas, no!” Malik roared as he lunged for the man, but Abbas was already far out of his reach, breaking into a sprint. Malik spat out a curse and followed, though his legs carried him much slower than Abbas’s frantic pace. Having only one arm threw off his balance, hindering what used to be his swift run. Before, he would have vaulted over the railing and dropped down to the story below. Now, it was all he could do to run down the steps without falling to the side.

Malik burst from the library and looked to see Abbas climbing the ladder to the high tower. Malik cursed again. There was no way he would be able to climb that and there were no Assassins in the courtyard for him to order to follow the mad man. Instead, he ran down the hill to where the pyre was built. The commotion that he had heard before grew louder and he could discern swords clashing and men shouting, a general din of chaos and confusion. As he exited the gate of the fortress, he could barely see a crowd of Assassins fighting amongst one another beyond the cliff, frantic citizens running away from the fray. They fought not to kill, it seemed, but in anger and doubt. It was the prelude to civil war. Atop the cliff above the battle there stood a tower of wood, blazing and sending thick black smoke skyward. It was a horrid sight, going against everything that Malik believed. But it was what Altaїr thought best, and he trusted the man indefinitely.

There were two men yelling, one from the top of the tower and one from the middle of the fighting men, who stilled their blades as they listened. Though Malik could not make out the conversation from his distance, he knew the voices: Abbas and Altaїr.

A sudden pressure seemed to press into his ears, slowing his movements until it felt as though he were running through water. The more he pressed forward, the deeper the pressure crushed him until all he could see was a bright red light through his closed eyelids as he braced against it. All at once, a shock ran through him, seeming to scorch beneath his skin. He cried out as he collapsed to the ground, feeling rushing back into his limbs in a blinding pain of sensation. When his vision cleared, he saw a flash of white climbing up the side of the tower, up to where Malik knew Abbas had been heading.

_Altaїr_. He had resisted the shock so much? It was all Malik could do to press himself away from the ground and the other man was climbing up the wall as if the entire Brotherhood depended upon it. Perhaps it did.

Twice more the pressure built and twice more Malik was knocked to the ground. And then there was a deafening silence. Every one of his senses burned with that immense silence as he lay face down in the dusty ground. He knew not how long he lay there, trying to gather himself and finding no strength to do so. It felt an eternity before something broke through the screaming silence.

There was a voice, calling sharp and clear through the still air. It echoed about the ancient hilltop to the high gray walls that stood sentinel behind. The darkness cleared from Malik’s eyes and he pressed himself up from the ground, his eyes falling to a white robed figure standing tall on the edge of the cliff. He addressed the crowd of silent, confused men below with a clear, commanding voice. Malik’s breath caught in his throat as he looked on the scene, upon the man he respected above all others.

“Al Mualim was a traitor to us all,” Altaїr called out. “He placed you all under a spell; he manipulated us into conflict with the Crusaders and the Saracens in an attempt to destroy the Brotherhood. He admitted to me all of this, and of his allegiance with the Templars. For as long as Al Mualim was our leader, he led us astray from the Creed, from our true purpose. I burn his body to make sure it was not another phantom created by the same illusions that placed you under his control. Understand that I do what I must not out of hatred but for love of the Brotherhood.”

Malik looked to Altaїr, saw his face set with determination. He was no longer a Novice and he was no longer a Master in that moment. As he stepped towards the edge of the cliff beside the burning deceased Mentor, he truly became their leader. This was the man that Malik always knew lay deep beneath his arrogance. This was the man he had come to respect in all their years of being partners, of being lovers. Now every man in the Brotherhood could see that as well and Malik had never felt so proud.

\---

Evening fell quickly over Masyaf. The injured were collected and brought to the infirmary and the few dead were set aside to receive all honors and respect that they were deserved. The town was quiet, though confused whispers ran heavy between lowered heads and in the shadows. There was still much confusion, much anger at how their deceased Mentor had been treated.

In the middle of the commotion in the Library stood Altaїr, giving out orders to Assassins who had taken his side. Rauf had been one of the first, to no surprise of Malik’s. The man had always admired Altaїr, making Malik dislike the arms master for such blind favoritism, but now his devotion was more than welcome.

In a brief lull in questions needing answering and orders given, Malik stole to Altaїr’s side, took his arm, ignoring any protest, and pulled him away and out of the library lobby. The sunset blazed red on the high gray walls in the courtyard as Malik soundlessly led his partner in the direction of the infirmary.

“Malik-” Altaїr began in protest, but stopped when the man turned his sharp gaze upon him.

“You are injured, or have you not noticed? You need to rest. Altaїr,” he went on, his voice softening, “the Brotherhood will survive the night.”

Altaїr shook his head. “The healers will be more than busy with the men we fought today.”

“Then, my stubborn friend, I will bandage you myself and if you protest once more, I will restrain you until you have regained your strength.” Malik allowed a smirk to cross his lips as he placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are no use to the Brotherhood half alive.”

Altaїr sighed, knowing that he would never win this argument. He gestured forward, though reluctantly. “Lead the way.”

When they came to the door of Altaїr’s home, the man looked questioningly at Malik, but he only nodded for its owner to open it. When they stepped over the threshold, Malik took charge.

“Sit,” he ordered the man, already heading deeper into the abode to where he knew the man kept his medical supplies. When he had retrieved a few rolls of gauze, he stoked a fire in the hearth, warming some water to wash whatever wounds the man had suffered in his recent battles. With all the supplies gathered, he returned to the waiting man.

The lamps had been lit, sending flickering orange light dancing on the walls. Malik’s breath caught in his throat. It felt an eternity since he had viewed that sight: Altaїr sitting in nothing but his breeches; his robes, belt, blades and boots removed and tossed aside. He looked so vulnerable, his bare skin showing bruises and various cuts atop old scars. Even though he looked so sunken, as if the burden of the world rested on his shoulders, he was still a marvel to behold.

Malik wondered when he had stopped truly appreciating the man for the beauty of his form. All those years seemed wasted on him now, when he only focused on what the man could give him, not appreciating the man as a whole. He was strong, in far more ways than Malik had ever seen before. Perhaps it was because the man finally saw himself as equal, but Malik suspected it went far deeper than that. There was a pang in his chest, as if someone took hold of his heart beneath his lungs and squeezed.

He was shaken from his reverie as those sunken amber eyes turned to glance up at him. He looked so lost, so worn. Malik steeled himself and went to his side, setting down the supplies he had gathered. In silence, he began dabbing at the man’s cuts with the warm, damp cloth. None were bad enough to require stitching, Malik was relieved to see, but they did require bandaging.

Altaїr simply sat and allowed the gentle ministrations to his wounds by the man who he had so recently hurt beyond his comprehension. Malik wrapped the man’s left arm securely with gauze, Altaїr helping where he could by holding the bandage in place as his healer worked. With that side done, Malik moved to his right and began the process again.

Malik himself had not been injured in the fight; his band of loyal Assassins had seen to that. Altaїr however had fought alone and had suffered for it.

When it was time to clean and dress the wound on the man’s shoulder, Malik moved to sit before him, keeping his gaze intent on the work at hand. He could feel Altaїr’s eyes on him, but dared not make eye contact.

It was Altaїr who broke the pregnant silence, voice soft and more uncertain than Malik had ever heard from him before. It was the voice of a man who was utterly lost, utterly exhausted. “Where do we go from here? Without a leader the Brotherhood will fall.”

“You are the Mentor now, Altaїr,” Malik replied softly, though with such complete and unshakable certainty.

Altaїr shook his head slowly. “I did not ask for this.”

Malik finished wiping the crusted blood from the cut on the man’s shoulder and set the cloth aside. “No, but you earned that title today.”

“But at what cost?” This question caught Malik. So he finally understood that his actions had consequences. He indeed was a changed man. “Al Mualim was more of a father to me than my own.” Malik drew a piece of gauze around the man’s shoulder and Altaїr automatically held the end in place as Malik wrapped it around his back and across his chest.

Malik did not bother trying to keep a respectful and professional distance as he wrapped the gauze about the man. In this space, in this house, they could be close and he did not try to deny the intimacy between them in that moment. “You will be a better Mentor than he ever was.”

“What’s this, no words of jealousy?” The words were almost sharp, but Malik could hear a hint of an almost mirthless joke beyond them. He was baiting Malik, testing to see if the animosity that seemed overflowing in the man not a few weeks ago still resided in him.

Malik could see him fishing for a sharp reply, waiting for him to snap and return to his vengeful self. The gauze tied securely, Malik sat back and inspected his work. After a moment he finally raised his gaze to those piercing amber eyes. He needed the man to know just how deadly sincere he was being in that moment. He needed to let the man know that he too had changed. “I can think of no one more capable of leading the Brotherhood.”

Altaїr could not maintain that intense gaze, glancing down, guilt spreading like wildfire over his face, clouding his eyes. “But I have made so many mistakes. Kadar-”

“Like I said before,” Malik cut him off softly, “you are not the same man you once were. That man I could never forgive. But the one right here,” he paused, pressing a hand on Altaїr’s chest just over his heart. The gesture almost made the man flinch at the intimacy of it, but Malik persisted. Finally, those bright amber eyes turned to his once more and he continued. “This man is more than worthy of my respect and of leading us to greatness.”

Altaїr was speechless, shocked at the man’s actions. “Malik…”

In response, Malik simply leaned forward, placing the softest of kisses to the man’s lips. There was a slight hesitation, then a hand gently came to rest on the back of Malik’s neck and he felt the man’s lips respond. They moved together perfectly, long time lovers meeting again after so long apart. Malik cherished the touch, taking in every sense of the man that he could: his smell, his taste, the way he took deep breaths through his nose and let them out in sighs as he refused to let their lips part.

Indeed, Altaїr had changed. He was taking it all in slowly, just as Malik was. They were each precious to the other and that passion, though left unsaid, was exuded in every small kiss, every tentative touch.

It was a long moment before Altaїr gently pressed Malik away, though their lips were but a breath away. “Are you certain? You told me that I was a mistake.”

Malik stared deeply into the man’s eyes, bright amber so uncertain but so caring. “At that time you were, but now you are changed and I have seen reason.”

In reply, Altaїr pulled him close into a fiercely lusting kiss, his qualms for the moment sated. He grabbed at Malik, drawing him closer with hands seeking more than just comfort. Malik received this need for closeness with relish, straddling the man’s legs and pressing Altaїr’s back to the cool stone wall just behind. He only broke away to shrug off his black robes, Altaїr immediately going to unlace the ties at the front of his white robe. The garment was pulled down over his shoulders and lips attacked his exposed neck, teeth scraping over the black stubble that had accumulated over the days of his travel from Jerusalem.

The lips were removed and there was a sudden pause. Malik looked to Altaїr, his eyes affixed to the now exposed bandages wound around what was left of his left arm. The guilt in that stare was so profound, so pained. The man’s fingers came to just brush over the white wrappings, the touch so tentative and tender.

 “I am… so sorry.” The words were barely a whisper and if Malik had not been so close to him, they would have been lost. With that simple utterance, Malik could see that Altaїr knew all that he had lost, just what he had sacrificed: his years of training, his freedom, his life as an Assassin. It was pity and guilt, but not understanding.

Malik was quick to reach over and clasp his hand over the other man’s, gaze prying into those amber depths, so lost and dark with remorse. “Stop.” It was the softest of commands and it caught Altaїr’s despairing attention. “Stop putting it all upon your shoulders. This was as much my doing as yours.” Malik laced his fingers with Altaїr’s, pressing their hands to the bandages around his stump. His voice was strong, almost angry in its intensity. “The infection from my wound would have spread had they not removed it. I am still alive because of this. Don’t you dare be sorry for that.”

A new light of understanding filled those amber eyes and they widened. He gripped Malik’s stump with an impassioned strength, Malik forcing down a wince as he clenched the still fresh scarring beneath the wrappings. He leaned forward and Malik met him halfway, wrapping him into an embrace that went beyond just two bodies meeting. They were one once more, two men locked in a tangle of passion that went far beyond the need for physical passion. It was a melding; two souls becoming one.

Malik moved his hips against Altaїr’s and was met with a surge of desire. Altaїr’s hands were at his waist, fingers digging in to the muscles of his ass. Malik’s belt was next to go, then his boots. Their pants closely followed. After each removal, the two would return to their gentle but all-consuming exchange of lip and touch, hands pulling and gripping at whatever they could just to try to draw the other closer. It had been three months, but the separation had felt like three years.

There were no more barriers between them now. It was just them, naked in each other’s arms, on equal terms and with the utmost respect for the other. Their past was long from forgotten, but all that mattered was their intimacy in that moment. All that mattered was this reunion of two souls that had been torn apart, bloodied, and then shoved back together.

Malik pulled away briefly, hand diving under the cushion to his right. Sure enough, he found the bottle of oil in its unmoving spot. He let a small satisfied smile cross his lips as he brought it between them, pressing it into Altaїr’s palm. There was a silent exchange that passed between them. It was a negotiation, a requisition.

The sentiment of the gesture was not lost upon Altaїr. The bottle was clutched in Altaїr’s hand and opened with desperately fumbling fingers. Malik leaned forward, allowing the man access. Sure enough, those slick fingers circled his entrance, making him bite his lip in anticipation. His tormenting dreams had been nothing compared to this intimacy, this pleasure. He was stretched out with such care, such gentle precision that Malik almost choked with how loving the motions were. He rested his head on Altaїr’s uninjured shoulder as the man worked, breathing deeply and moaning when the man’s fingers delved deep and struck the spot that sent a spark of pleasure up his spine.

The fingers were removed ever so slowly, making Malik’s breath catch in his throat. There were lips at his neck next, so tender and hungry. Desire reaching its peak, Malik stole the bottle of oil from Altaїr’s grasp, sitting back and exchanging a dark, lusting stare with Altaїr. A smirk overcame those scarred lips and he caught Malik in a messy kiss. Altaїr moaned into his mouth as Malik slicked his stiff sex with the oil covering his hand, thumbing the tip in just the way he knew the other man liked.

Satisfied with his work, Malik sat forward and hooked his arm around Altaїr’s back, a mischievous grin gracing his lips as he pulled the man forward. He leaned back, dragging the man with him until his back hit the cushions. Before, their intimate exchanges had all begun in a struggle of power. Now Malik was freely giving himself to the man. The gesture did not go unnoticed, Altaїr reflecting his grin, jumping at the opportunity presented to him. He ravaged the man’s chest, kissing at the short curls of hair that graced his dark olive skin as if cherishing it. He steadily moved down, following the trail of dark hair to his crotch. He pulled his lips around Malik’s member, sucking gently at first and then with more passion.

Malik tossed his head back, gripping at the man’s short hair and breathing out moans of pleasure. This was the man he had mourned the loss of after he attained the title of Master. This man who cared for others and not just himself. The touch left, but before Malik could groan at its loss, the man slid his chest up to press on Malik’s, the smirk on his scarred lips not having left. His leg was lifted over Altaїr’s shoulder. But here he paused, glancing down at the man. The smirk had vanished, all traces of it obscured by a gentle but lusting gaze. He pressed a hand to Malik’s chest, slowly running it down to his abdomen.

It was an intimate exchange, a brief pause that left Malik breathless with its tenderness.

The moment passed, Altaїr next aligning his sex with Malik’s entrance. He pressed in slowly, allowing Malik time to adjust. While courteous, Malik desired much more much faster. He caught his hand around the backside of Altaїr’s neck and pulled him into a messy exchange of lip and tongue, moving his hips, coaxing the man into motion. This he complied with readily and soon the room was hot and heavy with the sound of slapping flesh and grunts of pleasure and exertion.

It was everything their last exchange had not been. While that one had been an embrace out of anger and guilt, this one was of respect and caring. The other had been rough, unrelenting and this one was smooth and tender. Before, Malik had taken control and did not give it up, now he gave himself freely and more than willingly. It was an exchange of lust, of desiring lovers finally coming together after being torn apart for so long.

Malik received Altaїr’s thrusts with such euphoria that he barely felt when his own sex was taken up and pulled. The pleasure was so intense, the movements so driving in their heat. The feel of Altaїr filling him had reached a new plain of desire. He scraped his nails across Altaїr’s back, some small part of his mind reminding him not to tug off the bandages he had so carefully wrapped and secured.

Heat pooled in his abdomen and a surge of ecstasy overcame him. He choked on a moan as he shook into his orgasm. Just as he clenched in his pleasure, Altaїr grunted, digging his teeth into Malik’s shoulder. He slowed his frantic thrusting as he reached his own finish, pulling out just as his seed spilled. Spent, he collapsed on top of Malik, who welcomed him into an enveloping embrace. They lay there, hot and sweating bodies pressed together in a tangle of limbs. Exhaustion hit Malik suddenly, the long days of hard travel coupled with the battle that same day weighed down on him, just as Altaїr’s body was. But this man was a weight that he could always carry.

He ran his fingers through the short brown hair, the response only a tired hum from the unmoving man. Malik let a small, satisfied smile cross his lips. If he were exhausted, he could not imagine the tiredness that hung over the other man.

Malik gently shook the man’s shoulder. “Get up, Altaїr. Come to bed.” But the man did not even grunt in response. “Asleep? Only Novices sleep where they fall,” Malik joked softly in his ear.

That elicited a tired moan and a mumble about not being called a Novice, but Malik was having none of it. He pushed the man up and Altaїr reluctantly complied. Malik had to almost carry the man to his own bedroom and lay him atop his bed. Malik followed suit, bringing the light blanket over them both. An arm was drawn over his waist and Altaїr pulled Malik’s back to his chest. It was so painfully familiar yet undeniably welcome.

He was finally at peace, with the man he had so admired and despised welcoming him back into his warm embrace. Malik fell asleep with the sound of Altaїr’s deep breath brushing his neck like so tender a lover’s touch. And for the first time in months, Malik fell into a deep, undisturbed and restful sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, finally! They come together as equals! But alas, their angst is far from over.
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 35: Hurt in Haven!


	35. Hurt in Haven

The hot summer weather turned to icy winter in Jerusalem. Malik had returned to his Bureau just as he said, leaving Altaїr to rebuild the Brotherhood from the bottom up. They exchanged letters discussing this transformation. While they mostly discussed strategy, always there was a word of sentiment towards the other, whether it was a simple message of wanting to see the other or a more explicit desire. So busy with rebuilding the Brotherhood and struggling to make himself respected as the new Mentor, Altaїr had not visited Jerusalem since before Al Mualim’s death.

As the nights grew colder as winter fell, Malik found himself longing for his partner to warm his bed. He said so in his next letter to the man. So embarrassed by his confession, he almost burned the paper but sent it out before he could with the next Assassin returning to Masyaf from a mission. The sentiment disgusted Malik, but it was a true reflection of his feelings late at night. The letter he received in return was apologetic, but Altaїr wrote a promise to visit as soon as he could.

Weeks passed and a new threat to Jerusalem presented itself. Malik got news of the Crusader army marching through the sleet and rain on its way to try and take the city. It was a particularly harsh winter. Not even the citizens living within the walls wanted to leave their cozy abodes. A storm passed over them, lasting a week. It brought snow and hail, made even the paved streets of Jerusalem dangerous to traverse. When the storm abated, the army had retreated.

It was with much relief that Malik sent his next letter to Altaїr, telling him of how the weather was on their side for once. He wrote on with such worry that the Crusaders would return once the winter released its icy grip upon the land. Altaїr’s next letter wrote of how he himself had ventured out to collect information regarding the Crusader’s next move. Malik cursed at the letter as he read it, cursed the man for going out and doing such dangerous tasks when he was supposed to be holding the Brotherhood together. If he were killed, what would become of the Assassins?

The thought sent Malik’s head spinning. If he got killed, what would Malik do with himself? He had casted the man out of his life once before and it almost drove him to insanity. He did not want to think upon the thought, did not even want to plan for the inevitability of the man’s early death. Not many men in the Brotherhood lived long enough to see their grandchildren. It was simply the nature of their work.

He dared not dwell upon the fallibility and fragility of man. Malik had seen enough death to know that life was a fragile thing. He had seen life leaving a man’s eyes as his blade pierced his heart. He had seen it many times. But what frightened him most was that he could clearly imagine it happening to yet another man he was close to. It was always in the realm of possibility.

Malik had seen enough death and he knew he would see more. If his past year had taught him anything, it was that men could and did die with the slightest misstep. All he could do was trust that the man he had placed all of his hopes upon would not do something to get himself killed. He trusted Altaїr indefinitely and without pause, but as he read the letter describing the dangerous mission, Malik had his doubts about the man’s caution.

These thoughts weighed heavily on Malik’s shoulders as he wrote the man back, confirming the information that Altaїr had gleaned from his mission. The Crusader army would march again come spring.

As the days grew warmer and the rain gave way to sun, Malik’s trepidation increased. He had not heard back from Altaїr after he confirmed the Crusader plans. He had warned the man to not do anything rash, to send men from the higher ranks of the Brotherhood to complete the task. His silence told Malik all he had to know. The mission was too important for Altaїr to give it to anyone else but himself.

Malik waited out the remainder of winter, wishing every night that he were not alone. When spring came, news of the Crusader army advancing on Jerusalem reached his Bureau. He sent a bird with this news to Masyaf, though he was sure that Altaїr was already on the move. A week passed with no news. Worry weighed heavy on Malik’s shoulders, becoming more burdened with every passing chime of the bells echoing in the city.

On one particular day in the afternoon, a pressing errand pulled Malik away from the Bureau and he reluctantly left his post. Not an hour later he returned with a great foreboding about him. As he walked into the Bureau office, a shadow from the patio caught his eye. As he turned to look, he found that it was not a shadow at all, but a dark pool of blood.

Fear gripped Malik’s chest, every worry he had had over the long winter appearing to come true before his eyes. Altaїr lay in a heap, his face to the ground, robes stained red from blood that was not of his foes, but his own. With shaking hands, Malik turned the man over and a wave of dizziness passed over him when he saw how pale his cheeks were. He pressed his head to the man’s chest and was overcome with relief when he heard a heartbeat. If he were a man with no medical training, he would have crouched over his partner’s unconscious body and wept from pure relief at his being still alive.

As it was, Malik knew he had to tend to the man’s wounds to ensure that he would stay that way. He had to stop the bleeding, he had to close the wounds to prevent infection, he had to make him better. He stood and grabbed the man’s robes with his one hand and began laboriously dragging him into the Bureau office and from there into his abode. He rested the man on his own bed and thus began to peel away the reddened robes. There were many cuts on his chest and arms, some deep and still weeping blood. The wide Master belt at his waist had prevented any blades from piercing his organs, Malik was thankful to find, though that had not prevented his enemies from trying. Deep gashes across the thick leather told him as much.

With the unconscious man stripped almost naked, Malik set to work. With a needle and thread, he stitched up the largest and deepest of the cuts. He then set to work dabbing the blood from his chest with the utmost care. He treated Altaїr like some precious thing, because indeed he was the most precious thing, most precious person he had. Even then Malik could feel the tears jerking at the corners of his eyes, but he dared not succumb to them. He pulled bandages around the man’s chest, around his arms and down to his hands with the utmost care, remembering all too clearly the last time he had done so.

That had been before Altaїr had officially become the Mentor. That had been before the many months away. Their last meeting had been one of reconciliation, of passion long in the waiting. This was hardly the way Malik had wanted their next reunion to be. Focusing back on his work, he found that Altaїr’s legs were in a better state than his torso, but still they required bandaging.

He had been reckless again. He had gone against Malik’s warnings. Whether Altaїr had accomplished his task or not would have to wait until he regained consciousness. Malik finished his bandaging and stood, unable to bear staring at the man’s pale face for any longer. He busied himself with cleaning the blood from his floor, shocked by how much there was.

Evening fell over Jerusalem and Malik finally returned to his unconscious partner’s side. He sat by him until his eyes could no longer hold themselves open and he fell to sleep, his back resting against the wall just at Altaїr’s head.

It was early morning when he was awoken by a tender touch just at his jaw. Malik jolted awake, neck stiff from sleeping upright. He caught the bandaged hand in his own and glanced down to see the most beautiful amber eyes staring up at him, so soft and with the hint of a smile. Such painful relief flooded through Malik upon seeing that waking gaze upon him. He felt the sting of tears at his eyes but quickly blinked them away, pressing a soft kiss to the patch of un-bandaged skin on the back of Altaїr’s hand.

“What’s this,” Altaїr’s voice rasped out, weakened but still with a spark of jest, “no words of disapproval?”

Malik still held on to that hand as if it were a lifeline as he moved to sit at Altaїr’s side. “Those will come later.”

Altaїr shifted slightly and winced at the motion, voicing one of Malik’s many thoughts. “This is not how I had imagined our reunion.”

Malik grinned softly at his words, though it was a mirthless expression. “I always imagine the worst when it comes to you.” It was so painfully truthful that tightness clenched at his chest.

“Where did you find me?” The new Mentor of the Assassins sighed with the words, wincing as he brought his other hand to rub at his temple. He most likely had a pounding headache from blood loss. Malik made a mental note to make him some numbing medicinal tea.

In response, Malik looked questioningly at him. “You were in my Bureau bleeding all over my floor.”

Altaїr seemed impressed with himself, though his exhaustion dampened his response. “I made it that far? I hardly remember anything after I entered the city.”

“I hardly believe you survived losing so much blood.” Malik mirrored the man’s comment with his own sharp reply. Now that he knew the man would not perish, his anger at his recklessness surfaced. True to his word, the disappointed words came spilling forth, albeit slightly before he wanted.

Altaїr grinned weakly, giving Malik’s hand a squeeze. “I have an accomplished Dai to look after me.”

“Not if you go about your missions so recklessly, you won’t.” Malik tried to keep his tone sharp, but his words came out much softer than he intended. Damn this man for making him so soft. “Your actions are so childish that I will have to hire a wet nurse to look after you. You are the Grand Master, Altaїr. You are now responsible for all of the Brotherhood, not just yourself.”

Seriousness crossed the injured man’s face then, the mask of a new leader. “I had to do this myself, Malik. There is no one else I would have trusted to complete it.”

“I suspected as much. You succeeded I trust?”

Altaїr nodded, though winced at the action. “The Crusader leaders are now too busy arguing amongst themselves to continue their march on Jerusalem.”

Malik still refused to release the man’s hand. “If they ever got here, it would easily fall under their rule. Jerusalem is vulnerable, the morale weak.”

Altaїr stared into his eyes meaningfully, his tone sincere. “You are the leader of the people here, Malik. You keep them all safe from the tyrannous leaders. Jerusalem will not be weak for long.”

Malik grinned softly at those words, not giving away the swell of pride that filled his chest. “I am not as arrogant as you once were. I may pull the strings, but the people fight for themselves. They are the strong ones.” In response, Altaїr gripped the front of Malik’s robes and pulled him close. They shared in a gentle kiss, but Malik drew himself away prematurely. He was expecting an Assassin to arrive that morning with a mission and it would not do to have him wait. “Rest. I have much work to do.”

That made a devious grin cross Altaїr’s scarred lips. “Giving orders to your Grand Master?”

Malik scoffed at the man. “I am telling a stubborn child to not pick at his scabs.” Altaїr grinned again and rested his head back, allowing the Dai to go about his business.

\---

Early afternoon fell upon the Bureau. Malik was quite surprised at Altaїr’s restraint from bothering him while he worked. Perhaps the man truly did want to get well and had taken Malik’s advice. The Dai worked seemingly endlessly on his maps in peace only interrupted by the thought of the man in his back room. He was brought out of his quiet work when he heard the Assassin he had been waiting for drop through the rooftop entrance. It was not a graceful entrance, marking a man whose skills were still rough. A lower ranked Assassin, then. Whoever Altaїr had put in charge of assigning missions to the men deemed his skills worthy enough for the mission Malik had sent a request for. Malik trusted Altaїr’s judgment, so he trusted the assigned man.

He was young, not much older than Malik had been when he had first received his full Assassin robes. The man greeted Malik respectfully, as he was due, and Malik relayed what information he could to the man about his mission. Just as the young Assassin made to leave the Bureau to begin, he stopped, appearing to decide to voice a concern.

“I heard that our new Mentor is here in Jerusalem.” His tone was neutral, but Malik could sense unease about him.

“He is,” Malik replied just as neutrally, though he stayed strong in his conviction.

Here the Assassin paused briefly, mulling over his thoughts before voicing them uneasily. “Do you believe that Al Mualim really had turned against the Brotherhood? I find it hard to believe that our own leader would be a Templar in disguise. I can’t help but think that the whole story was created so that Altaїr could attain more power.”

The man’s words stoked a fire in Malik’s chest, blooming with anger that he forced himself to contain. He dared speak against his new leader? Malik’s tone was sharp when he answered, leaning forward and glaring at the man with a menacing stare. “Grand Master Altaїr is restoring the Brotherhood to its rightful place. You would do well to respect him as our new leader.”

The Assassin did not flinch at the barely restrained fury. “Do you trust him?”

There was no hesitation in Malik’s answer. “I have trusted him with my life before, and I would not hesitate to put it into his hands again.”

Still not convinced, the young man pressed on. “He lost his ranks for going against all tenants of our Creed not half a year ago.”

Still stern and with all the conviction he could muster, Malik stayed strong. “And since then he has proven himself a far more capable leader than Al Mualim ever was. He fights for the Brotherhood and for the people. He risks much in order to preserve peace.”

That made the Assassin give pause. “Why do _you_ stand by him?” It was not quite a challenge. It mostly sounded like an honest question.

Malik sighed, scraping his fingers through the hair on his chin. It took him a long moment to form the words, but once he started he found that everything he said rang true. So true that it hurt him to say it. “I have known him my whole life. I hated him for most of it, but I respected him as well. He made mistakes and many suffered greatly for it, me among them. But he returned to his senses and made it right. Give him time and you will see that he is a strong and capable leader.”

That made the young Assassin take an unconscious step backwards. He appeared to reel from the strength of Malik’s words, taken aback by his passion. He nodded silently and excused himself from the office, quickly climbing out of the Bureau.

Malik let out another sigh and turned back to his maps. A soft almost sultry voice from behind drew him from his thoughts. “You said that with such conviction that even I almost believe you.”

“You should not be up or you will pull your stitches out.” Malik spun to face Altaїr, finding him leaning against the doorway to his quarters. Altaїr waved him off, but went on to stare expectantly, waiting for the man to explain. After a long suffering sigh, Malik complied. “I have had many of our brothers asking questions about your rise to become our Mentor. You need to gain confidence in them, to gain their trust as their new leader.”

Altaїr flashed a crooked and seductive grin. Just that expression made Malik’s heart leap in his chest. Damn that man for having such control over him. “It helps that I have a much respected Dai spouting pleasantries about me on my behalf.”

Malik’s response was soft and he found that when he spoke, he could not bring himself to meet those amber eyes. “They are not pleasantries, they are truths.”

“My time away has seemed to make you forget all I have done.” He said it light-heartedly, but there was such profound pain masked behind that cocky grin.

Malik drew his eyebrows together, shortening the distance between them with a smooth step. “I have not forgotten, only forgiven.” He drew his hand up to touch the man’s unshaved cheek, the grin dissolving into something rawer, something truthful. He had still not forgiven himself, Malik saw. As he drew their lips together, Malik knew that it would come in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the last of my chapter buffer. So if I don't update next week, it's because I'm burnt out on writing my 5th 6-8 page paper in 5 weeks for grad school. Just three more weeks until the quarter is over! I'll try my best to get the chapter done, but damn it might not happen. Just bear with me! I will see this story completed, damn it!  
> I've also been working on another writing project. So if you like gay pirates, go to my fictionpress page. The link to it is in my profile!


	36. Covert in Cyprus

Three days passed, Altaїr slowly healing and Malik barely putting up with his mostly feigned neediness. Malik eventually was unable to keep him confined to his bed, so he allowed the man to wander about the Bureau. As soon as he had freedom, Altaїr seemed to spend as much energy as he could pestering the Dai as he struggled to work. Malik had to constantly remind himself of the loneliness he had felt over the winter. He should appreciate the man while he could. But damn, how could he work when the needy man could not keep his hands off of him? More than once Malik found himself incapacitated by a wandering hand, teasing him until he grew so flustered that he forced the man away.

It was only at night that Malik allowed the man to have him completely. Though true to his word, Altaїr was gentle with himself so as to not tear open the carefully stitched wounds strewn about his body. Even with all of that, the two certainly were able to satisfy their cravings for one another.

More time passed and soon a week had transpired since Altaїr made his pained entrance into the Bureau. Malik found them settling into a pattern that was almost sickeningly domestic. For all of his achievements and expertise, Altaїr still did not know a thing about cooking, so it was up to Malik to prepare their meals. It was strange, making meals for two after struggling for months to remember to only prepare enough food for one. After Kadar had died, he had continued to make enough food for two at each meal, so stuck in the habit. It had been so painful to come to terms with making a single serving that returning to serving two was like a breath of relief. He had not realized how much preparing food for others satisfied him.

It helped that Altaїr was almost too vocal in his gratefulness. Malik knew he was still trying to make amends. Each gesture of thanks that was a little bit too excessive, each touch that lingered just slightly too long dug deeper into Malik. The man was struggling so hard to get the forgiveness he had already received. But Malik knew that he was doing this as much for him as for himself. He needed to forgive himself and all that he did was a mad attempt to satisfy that desire.

All Malik could do was accept the man with grace, though he did not hesitate to snap at him if he grew too insistent. He had his dignity to uphold, after all. These small spurns struck Altaїr deep, though he did his best to not let his reactions show.

There was tension, yes, but no matter what tiffs they got into during the day, Malik more than welcomed him to his bed when evening fell. They held each other, they made love, and they fell asleep in one another’s arms. It was bliss after so long of being apart. Malik slept better than he had in a year with his back pressed to his partner’s chest, the man’s bandaged but still strong arms circling about him and holding him close. It was all he could ask for, though he knew the man still wanted to do more for him. It was a futile want, for he did not see the simplicity of Malik’s true desires.

Another day passed. Malik was just settling into his afternoon cup of strong tea when strong arms circled his waist. He grimaced at the action, double checking the Bureau entrance for the shadow of an approaching Assassin or informant. Seeing none but still wary, he turned and pressed the man away gently, though kept his hand on his chest.

“What do you want, Altaїr?” His tone was neutral, not letting the usual bite enter his words. The man had his hood pulled up and over his head, his expression blank. That made the pit of Malik’s stomach sink. For the past week, Altaїr’s actions had been playful and needy. Now the underlying tension was almost overwhelming. “Altaїr?”

In a swift move, Altaїr swept in, pinning the Dai against the desk and pulling him into a ravishing kiss. It was heady, so desiring that it left Malik breathless. When he finally forced himself to pull away, Altaїr let out a despairing sigh. “I should have told you before. I got word before I came here that the Templars have bought Cyprus from the Crusaders. I have been meaning to go there to force them to relinquish their hold on the land.”

Malik was taken slightly aback by the words, still reeling from the intense intimacy that had just transpired. “You did not tell me this why? Did you think I would have sent you off to go do it immediately, even if you had not gotten injured?” His tone conveyed the absurdity of the notion.

“I do not know how long it will take, Malik. Months, a year?” Concern laced his every feature and still he refused to relinquish the embrace he held on Malik as if he were afraid to get pushed away. Malik did not even dare toy with the idea of spurning the man.

“So you are delaying this on my behalf? The Brotherhood comes before me, Altaїr. You of all people should know that.” Malik gripped the front of the man’s cowl, voice stern. “I am not as weak as you think.”

“I do not think that you are weak,” Altaїr replied, just as stern. Malik knew the hidden message beyond those amber eyes, though neither of them would voice it. They had missed one another. They had wanted to be in each other’s company for as long as they could before their duties tore them apart yet again.

“Stay one more night.” Malik did not care that he was commanding his Grand Master. In that moment they were equals, just two men, two lovers. “But then you have to do your duty to the Brotherhood as its leader.”

Altaїr cupped a hand behind Malik’s neck, drawing him in close. “I will return as soon as the mission is complete.” That evening, they made up for any lost time that lay behind them as well as in the months to come.

\---

Thus Altaїr left for Cyprus. The letters were even sparser than before, the information in them leaving much to be desired. Altaїr wrote of his accomplishments, though never gave details. Malik took this in stride, knowing that the man only left out the details in case the letters were intercepted. He did not even sign the letters with his full name, just a simple scrawl of his initials. What was more worrying was Malik had no way of sending a letter in return. Altaїr was traveling around in utter secrecy, in enemy territory.

Malik continued on leading in Jerusalem, sending Assassins out on missions as they came. As each one dropped into the rooftop entrance, his chest would give a jolt only to sink once again as the men who entered his office were not the one he was wanting. Only about every two months one of the Assassins would present him with a sealed letter from his beloved partner. He would wait until evening to read them, locked away in his quarters far from the prying eyes of the visiting Assassins.

Yet another winter came and went as the months dissolved away. A full year transpired since Altaїr had graced his Bureau. The only reassurance that Malik got was the short letters and the knowledge that the man was as skilled as he was wise. Malik trusted him to stay safe, fully knowing that he was in treacherous territory doing dangerous work. It was this trust that carried Malik through the year, never stooping so low as to be reduced to moping. Sure, he missed the man. He missed him every day, but that did not stop him from carrying on. He had had plenty of practice carrying on in the months after Kadar’s demise. This was only different in that this time Malik knew that the one he was missing would return.

And he did.

Late afternoon was falling over Jerusalem, the shadows lengthening and darkening. Malik was busying himself about the Bureau, straightening the cushions and lighting the oil lantern on the counter. The day’s heat was rapidly receding as the cool of the night washed over the silent Bureau, the echoes of the street bustle settling as the citizens of Jerusalem retired to their homes. Malik was lighting a cake of incense on the counter in the office when the pleasant silence was interrupted by two light feet landing just outside. The overly familiar jingle of weapons rattling in their scabbards was like music to Malik’s ears. He did not feel his heart leap in his chest. That habit had long stopped. In truth, Malik did not quite know what to feel.

Altaїr stepped into the office, his face shadowed and obscured by the hood pulled far over his head. Malik took in his appearance in one sweeping look. His robes were new, though the belts he wore about him were the same, a bit worse for wear. He approached swiftly, not to the opposite side of the counter as was his usual, but immediately went around the backside. Malik simply watched as the Assassin stepped up to him, forgetting the incense and turning to meet him. Hands fell about his shoulders, gripping with such need, such lust that it took the breath out of Malik’s throat.

In the next moment, he was being swept into his quarters, the lamp he had so recently lit retrieved and hung on its hook on the wall. As much as Malik had been unconcerned for Altaїr’s wellbeing while he was away, this sudden and strangely quiet manner in which Altaїr was going about put him at a slight unease.

“What is this, Altaїr?” He asked of the man, watching his every move. At the question, the Assassin stopped and moved to stand before him again, seemingly at a loss. “A year gone in Cyprus and now you return with no word of welcome?” As if these words pulled him from his thoughts and into action, those lusting hands were at his shoulders again, pulling Malik flush against Altaїr’s front. Malik’s lips were caught in a desperate, biting kiss and he willingly succumbed to the passion. Before long, Altaїr pushed Malik down onto his bed and fell unto him, ravishing his body as if he never again would have the chance to.

Malik welcomed the passion, but voiced his qualms. No matter how much he wanted the lovemaking to begin, he knew of his responsibilities. “We cannot do this now; I have to watch over the Bureau.”

Altaїr paused only momentarily. “I closed the grate.”

Malik allowed a grin to cross his lips as devious hands swept down his front, seeking out more intimate territory. “So now you are thinking ahead? What happened in Cyprus to make you so vigilant?”

“Do not speak of Cyprus. I need you now.” The words were sharp, but so filled with need and desire that Malik dared not question him.

Malik choked on a moan as Altaїr shifted above him, running his hand over his crotch enticingly. It was such a simple gesture, but so knowing in its familiarity. Even after a year of being apart the man still knew exactly what drove Malik into a state of disarray and lust. The hand kneaded at his crotch, coaxing his member into hardness. Malik likewise tended to his partner, unlacing his pants and bringing forth his stiffening sex.

With both of them free, neither man went to remove any other item of clothing. Both needed a release, needed to be close and intimate in the most desperate way. Altaїr ground his hips down, Malik capturing both of their sexes in his grip. They both rutted against the other, their motions unrelenting and their moans desperate and unabashed. Altaїr was heavy on top of him, a familiar weight, though more so as he had not removed his weapons. Just what happened in Cyprus to make him so desperate for Malik? Though Malik was no less desperate. As soon as he had fallen into the man’s arms, all trepidation melted away and he succumbed to his wild urges. He set everything aside, his thoughts about the Brotherhood, his business that transpired within these walls, even his slight distain for Altaїr’s high office that stole him away for so long. It was just them, seeking out a primal release and needing to be as close as they could as soon as they could.

Altaїr shook out a moan, stiffening his back as he found his peak. Malik paused a moment, still a bit off from his own release. The man must have truly been desperate to have reached his finish so soon. As if in apology, Altaїr pulled Malik’s lips to his before sweeping down and closing his mouth around Malik’s needy member. He sucked hard and swift, sending Malik into uncontrollable moans at the unrelenting pleasure.

It was not long before he too came to completion, spilling himself into his partner’s mouth. Altaїr took this with relish. They were soon back in the enveloping embrace of two lovers long gone without the other. Heavy breaths gave in to softer rhythms, biting kisses becoming fleeting gentle touches.

“Safety and peace, Altaїr,” Malik spoke softly, breaking the companionable silence that had fallen between them.

“Upon you as well.” Although the man did not smile, Malik heard the warm-heartedness of the words. This was punctuated as the man pressed a possessive kiss to his jaw.

“Your letters left much to be desired in way of what transpired in Cyprus. Perhaps now you can tell me the tale.” Malik immediately regretted those words. With a sigh, Altaїr pulled himself out of their comfortable embrace. Malik was sad to feel it go. He then began the slow and meticulous process of removing the belts and scabbards that secured his weapons about him, setting them carefully aside. It was like a ritual, each belt removed precisely. Malik knew the process well from the days when he wore the field Assassin robes.

All the while, Altaїr began relaying his story. “The Templars left for Cyprus from Acre and so I followed them from there.” He spoke of the trials in Limassol, of his arrival in Kyrenia and his discovery by pirates. He described his successful assassinations of key Templars, leading him to infiltrate Kantara Castle and the hulking man he battled there. He roused resistance and then infiltrated yet another castle, Buffavento. “There was a crazed woman there,” Altaїr said, “her nails were like the claws of a beast. I have seen men and women robbed of sanity before, but she was different. She was dangerous and in such misery that I had to end her life.” This appeared to trouble Altaїr, but Malik simply sat and waited for him to go on.

Altaїr indeed continued, speaking of how he stopped the Templar abuse of the people and of how he faced the twins Shahar and Shalim. “It was going to be a fair fight,” Altaїr explained, running an agitated hand through his short hair. “But then she had to run away and leave me to fight both of them.”

The mention of a woman caught Malik off guard. “She?”

Altaїr seemed to stop, expression closing off. After a long moment, he continued on carefully. “Do you remember when Robert de Sable was supposedly here in Jerusalem?”

“Of course I do. A woman stood in his place.” The realization dropped over Malik’s head like a bucket of water. “You don’t mean to say that the same woman was there in Cyprus.”

Altaїr nodded, though reluctantly. “The same. She caused almost more trouble than she was worth.”

“She is a Templar, of course she is trouble.” Altaїr was far too sympathetic for the woman and Malik made his opinion of the matter known.

“She revealed to me the location of the Templar Archive,” Altaїr responded almost sharply in her defense. “I defeated Bouchart, the man I had been hunting, within it. Unfortunately, it collapsed under cannon fire.”

“So you were unable to gather information from it?”

“None. I was going to leave the Apple in the vaults of Limassol but that too failed.”

Malik sat back and scratched at his chin. There was one piece of information still held back. “What of the Templar woman?”

“She renounced her loyalty to the Templars.” He was carefully neutral in his words.

“You left her alive?” Malik did not bother to suppress his shock and disapproval of the action.

“There was no reason to kill her and I thought it best to add her strength to the Brotherhood.”

That made Malik reel but he caught himself. He had trusted this man thus far. There was no reason to stop trusting him after this simple decision. Malik dropped the issue, knowing that this conversation could spring into a heated argument. That was exactly what Malik did not want for their first evening in each other’s company once more. “So you kept the Apple. Were you able to establish a stronghold for the Brotherhood in Cyprus before you left?”

Altaїr nodded, seeming relieved at the change in subject. “Cyprus is liberated from Templar control and I have sent some men over to ensure it stays that way. I did notice a change in the Templar’s pattern while I was away. It seems that they are withdrawing from the eyes of the public.”

Malik took this information in, mulling it over for a moment. “Should we do so as well? Will we not lose influence?”

Altaїr shook his head, appearing to already have come to some conclusion about this. “We will work in the dark, beyond the public eye. We can still do the same work, but we will do so in secret.”

It was quite a change that Altaїr was proposing. “That would mean abandoning our fortresses, relocating our Brothers.”

This Altaїr agreed with. These were all things that he had already considered and planned for. “We will abandon all but Masyaf. Our Brothers will go into the cities and work from within them. You will play a much bigger role in the years to come.” With those words, Altaїr rested a hand on Malik’s shoulder. It was companionable but more than that, it was trusting. The touch lingered, the intimacy of it not going unnoticed.

No matter how much Malik trusted Altaїr as the leader of the Brotherhood, he still needed reassurance. “Are you certain this is a good move?”

Altaїr’s words were strong in their conviction. “The Templars will not attack us with armies, they will infiltrate the rulers of the lands. We must work in secret to stop this from happening. War will not save the people. This battle is best done with words and a blade in the night. The world is changing, Malik. We must change with it.”

Malik stared deeply into those amber eyes, covering the man’s hand atop his shoulder with his own. “Cyprus has truly changed you.”

Altaїr pressed forward, closing the distance between them once more. “Perhaps.” Their second consummation of their reunion was much gentler, much more indicative of their longtime longing for the companionship they had left behind. It carried long into the night, neither caring about the loss of sleep that would inevitably plague them the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for missing last week's update! Schoolwork got the best of me I'm afraid. The good news is that next week is the last week of the quarter and I already have half of the next chapter written. So you should be getting a regular update again!
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse: Time in Turmoil! Featuring time jumps and whatnot!


	37. Time in Turmoil

Half a year transpired, passing Malik by in a flurry of work. Altaїr’s plan to make the Brotherhood hidden from the public eye had drastically altered the whole structure of the operation. More responsibilities were put onto Malik’s shoulders, more Assassins came to live within the city walls, and his efforts turned much more towards coordinating the men and teaching them their new ways. Malik spent more time looking at maps rather than making them, more time instructing Assassins rather than telling them of missions to be carried out. It was good work, but exhausting.

The letters he received from Altaїr dealt mostly with business, rarely mentioning Malik unless in regards to his next plan of change. The Assassin Grand Master visited only three times in those six months, but while they were officially to help build up the secrecy of the Brotherhood, he and Malik made time to build their own intimacy. It was difficult, with the Bureau then a hub for Assassin activity rather than just a resting spot. To get away, Altaїr would take Malik to the roofs and there in the rooftop garden they were able to share their intimacy in private and secrecy. Even more so than before they had to keep their relations from wandering eyes and ears. Such a scandal falling upon Altaїr in this time of change would crush everything they had been working towards.

After such a meeting, on a warm late summer evening, the two men lay in one another’s arms. The lowering sun sent the orange curtains ablaze with light, casting their naked, entwined bodies in its warm glow. As much as the two had enjoyed their reunion after a long two month wait, Altaїr’s brow was darkened in melancholy. Malik asked him of this, of why he was so downcast. The answer sent a chill through his body that had little to do with the early evening breeze.

“It is expected for me to take a wife.” It was said lowly, almost practiced in its levelness.

Malik forced down his gut reaction, which was a resounding protest. They had to think of the Brotherhood. The Assassins always came first. The Order was far more important than any relationship they could muster between them. Even so, Malik sighed and sat up, pulling himself out of the man’s sweating embrace. He collected himself, shielding his true thoughts and feelings with his mask of diplomacy. “As the Grand Master, it would be odd for you not to.”

Altaїr followed Malik and sat up, his eyes fixed to the wooden panels of the rooftop garden. He looked sunken and yet Malik was still overcome by the beauty of the man, his skin seeming to glow with the orange light. Even the scars that riddled that tanned skin seemed to disappear. “The Apple has spoken to me. It tells me that I need to have children.”

That made Malik’s mind spring away from more sensual thoughts. Altaїr rarely spoke of the Apple, let alone its capabilities. “It speaks to you? What sort of relic can do that?”

Altaїr only shook his head. “I can’t say. It tells me only what I need to know, nothing more.”

Something rose in Malik’s chest. Anger? No, nothing so strong. Perhaps he was simply indignant. His words came out sharper than he wanted. “So you would listen to some unearthly relic and allow it to decide your fate?”

Those amber eyes suddenly turned on him, his face set in all seriousness. “Malik, this is beyond you or me. It may be hard for you to understand, but the Apple tells me that I yet have a part to play in its grand scheme. It has told me things… things no one would believe.”

Malik could not resist a humorless grin. “Like you fathering children?”

Altaїr shook his head once more. “It is beyond carrying on my family name.”

Malik let this rest on his mind for a time. From the little that Altaїr had told him of the Apple, he had gathered that it held strength far beyond that which he knew. Malik had promised himself long ago that he would never let himself become a burden, and that included to the Brotherhood. He would not bring himself to hold his partner back from whatever destiny the Apple had in mind. More so than that, he would not allow himself to hold his partner back. He steeled himself, knowing full well that he had to force himself to be so selfless. “So go find a wife. Let her bear your children.”

That answer seemed to shake Altaїr. “I am surprised you are willing to let that happen.”

“So long as you return to me, I care not.” And there it was, that bloom of jealousy that Malik had been trying to stave off. He cared, sure. Perhaps he cared too much. But he was not about to make his own selfish desires destroy Altaїr’s or the Brotherhood’s future. That lesson had been taught to him long ago when the same was done to him, by the same man he sat beside.

Altaїr stared at him for a long moment, letting the words register and pass through him. When he finally responded, it was with such relief that the bloom of jealousy grew larger in Malik’s chest. “I am shocked, but I thank you nonetheless.”

“Where will you find a woman?” The question was almost defensive, but Malik did his best to keep sharpness from his voice.

Altaїr did not hesitate to answer. “I may already have one.”

The answer struck Malik in the chest like a blow, but he would never let it show. “Good,” he said definitively. “Get it done and over with. Then come back to me.” He pulled the man towards him, winding his arm about the man’s back and bringing their bodies together once again. His words and his motions were almost a warning and by the way Altaїr received him welcomingly, it was taken as such. Not only that, it was a promise. A promise to return to his side when the deed was done.

Malik held Altaїr possessively, sucking at his neck and leaving a deep red mark. This man is mine, it said. As the sun continued to lower in the sky, Malik made true that statement. He took the man, possessing him in a way that no other could. It was a consummation of the promise of his return and with every thrust, every moan that was dragged out of Altaїr’s throat. The jealousy in Malik’s chest abated for the time being. Altaїr was his and in that moment Altaїr was all too willing to concede as much of himself as he could give.

\---

The wedding was to occur in Cyprus. That was what the short letter that Malik held in his hand stated. It had been delivered by bird rather than by an Assassin. Not many men traveled the long distance from Masyaf, not since the structure change. The missions were carried out by the Assassins living within the city walls. It was a surprisingly efficient system, though without such frequent direct communication with the fortress the feel of unity was sacrificed.

Maria Thorpe was her name. In all his time of knowing that there was a woman that Altaїr was courting, Malik never knew her name. It was a foreign name, and English name. Through his gathered information, Malik had pieced together just who the woman was. He had dared not ask Altaїr of her, somehow afraid to hear the words from the man’s own mouth. She was the one who Altaїr had fought in Robert de Sable’s place. She was the one he had met in Cyprus. She was the Templar, though had renounced her ways. For a year she had been staying inside the walls of Masyaf, learning the ways of the Assassins. Malik dared not dwell on the fact that she and Altaїr were in constant contact. He knew they were together and every time he thought upon it, his chest constricted unbearably. But Malik dared not give in to jealousy. They had made a promise and Malik trusted his partner to uphold his end. Altaїr would return to him once his duty was complete.

That did not change the fact that Malik dared not imagine Altaїr being content with another lover. No, not lover, Malik forced himself to believe. Just a vessel for his children. Just a convenient means to an end. That was all she was supposed to be. These thoughts were the only thing keeping Malik from begging Altaїr to come to him, to drop whatever mission the Apple had given him, to force him to return to how things were before. Altaїr had a duty and he was ensuring it. Malik only had to step back and allow it. He had thought it would be easy, but as the months passed it became clear that he no longer had the capacity to let the man go. He had done it once before and it had torn a hole in his heart which had barely patched over when Altaїr left him again. He chastised himself for growing so attached to his partner. The sinking feeling in his chest would not abate and only grew deeper when he received the letter he held in his hand.

If it had been an invitation to attend the wedding, Malik would have gone into a rage. But it was not. Altaїr knew Malik enough to know that he would desire nothing less than to attend the union of the man he had grown to… so deeply admire and trust. It was a simple statement of fact. They were to be married in Cyprus to help solidify the bonds between the new Assassin base and the Brotherhood in the east. It was a political move and Malik forced himself to believe that was all it was.

As the months passed with no further communication, Malik began to despair. He tried his best to stave away the poisonous jealousy that coursed through him every time his thoughts came to his partner. He felt as though he had been betrayed all over again, only this time the one taken away from him was the very man he had made the compromise with. He wanted to trust Altaїr. He wanted to trust him and be able to accept his duty. But something stopped him. His pride. He himself had a duty to uphold and he did so every day, following Altaїr’s instructions in leading the Brotherhood in Jerusalem.

It was this duty that carried Malik through those months of no discourse.

The weather had turned cold, Jerusalem on the cusp of winter. The evening was thankfully absent of Assassins in the Bureau, a rare event ever since the changes were implemented. Malik took full opportunity of this peace and was spending the quiet evening at his game board, playing a compelling game against himself. He always trained his body to keep himself sharp and his sword arm strong, but it was equally important to keep his mind just as keen.

His concentration was interrupted by a practiced landing and roll from the terrace. Malik silently chastised himself for getting too caught up in his game to remember to close the grate for the evening. He would just have to send the Assassin away, or tell him to-

“Safety and peace, Malik.”

Malik froze, his heart all at once constricting and racing. He let out a small, hissed curse, too soft for the man to hear. It took him a moment to gather himself, to stand and face the man he had tried to put out of his thoughts for so long. He forced himself into an expression of indifference, carefully schooled. “So you do still live. I was beginning to think otherwise.” It was not a warm welcome and although the twitch on Altaїr’s brow gave away his hurt but he maintained his composure.

Altaїr’s voice was soft, his every motion sincere. “I’m sorry, Malik. I did not mean to be so long from here.” He took a step forward, the confining space seeming to close in around them. Something was different about the man. As he stepped further towards Malik, he saw no visual differences. He still wore the white robes of a Master Assassin, dusty from the road. His expression was soft and apologetic, but that was not what Malik sensed. Then it donned on him. It was his smell. His usual scent of spice and blade polishing oil was overlaid with something sweet, like wildflowers and strong tea. It was a different scent and it felt wrong. It was so wrong. The jealousy that Malik had thought had abated over the months was brought immediately back to the surface and his chest boiled with it. Malik took a single defying step back, his stance on the offensive rather than welcoming as Altaїr apparently had anticipated. Fury boiled in his chest as he saw the hurt pass briefly over his partner’s expression.

Malik’s voice was soft but that in no way dampened the sharpness of his words. “You dare come in here after this long, still smelling of her and expect to be welcomed into my bed?”

Altaїr was taken aback, though he stood his ground, a safe pace away from Malik. “She is my wife, Malik.” It was a statement of fact but there was hurt behind the words.

“And what does that make me, your secret bed servant?” Malik practically spat out the words, lashing out at the man. “She was only supposed to be the mother of your children. That is what you told me she would be.”

“Things changed.” The response cut Malik deeper than he thought.

“Obviously.” Malik growled in reply, unrelenting his glaring at the man before him. The man who had so easily stated that he had broken his promise.

Altaїr pursed his lips, more defiant than Malik cared to allow. “I would not expect you to understand.”

“What is it that is so beyond me?” The fury was almost boiling over, Malik’s hissing words coming from somewhere deep in his chest.

The man stood his ground in the face of Malik’s barely restrained fury, keeping a level head. “That I could care for both you and Maria.”

Malik could have laughed. Instead he tossed his arm up in exasperation. “You are right. It is beyond my understanding because it is nonsense.” Needing to put some distance between them, needing to distract himself, Malik stalked to his desk and absentmindedly shuffled through some scrolls there.

Altaїr made no move to follow, simply standing his ground. His was the voice of reason, though Malik could find no sense in them. He did not want the words to make sense. “Someday you will meet her. Perhaps you will change your mind then.”

Malik clenched his fist against the wooden desk, his back firmly to the man. “What makes you think I wish to meet her?” His question was a growl.

“She is carrying my child.”

That made Malik stop. It shot through his chest like the bolt from a crossbow. He let it sink in for an agonizing moment, the silence tense between them. Finally Malik came to himself, the ferocity in his chest overcoming whatever qualms he had. All the pent up jealousy and anger towards the man came out in a senseless burst. His clenched fist slammed on the desk and he turned to face the man, his voice strong and ferocious in his rage. “Am I supposed to be impressed that you filled her with your seed? I am more surprised that you found the right hole!”

All calmness dispersed between them, the room seeming to heat up with the animosity. “Don’t you dare say such vulgar things about her.” Altaїr’s voice was dangerous, the small changes in his stance revealing his preparedness for a brawl.

Malik did not care. He saw the signs of anger in the other man, but all he cared about was his own need to inflict as much pain as he could upon him. They were both dangerous men. “Is this not what you do? Is that not what you have always done? But now it is a woman instead of me.” Lightning seemed to crack between them, the room closing in even more about them. The next words spoken in the room was the thunder following the storm.

“I love her, Malik.”

The shock that rang through Malik’s body almost made him stagger. The static abated, the energy passing from the room in an exhausted sweep. Malik slumped back as he took those words in, leaning against the desk behind him for support. It was a blow like no other he had taken in his life. He had felt pain before, felt betrayal. This was something else entirely. When he finally spoke again, his voice was soft and almost broken. “And you admit it freely, that is a first. Tell me, what is so different about her?”

Altaїr looked to immediately regret his outburst, motioning to go to him. “Malik-”

Malik would have none of his sympathy. “No.” He held up his arm as if to put a barrier between them. “No, Altaїr. You have a wife now, so why still bother with me?” His partner remained in a pained silence. Malik shook his head. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear from you that I have been replaced.”

“You could never be replaced, Malik.” The softness of Altaїr’s voice revealed the truth that lay deep in his chest.

“No?” Malik was skeptical. “Then what is this?” He motioned vaguely between them.

Altaїr spread his arms out like an offering of peace. “A compromise. When I am here, I am only yours.”

Malik scowled in defiance. “And when you go back to Masyaf? Will you forget me until your return?”

The response was diplomatic, revealing the Grand Master’s hard earned training in the art. “I will be Mentor, husband to Maria, and father of my children, but I could never forget you, no matter how hard I try.” It was so raw, so truthful. It struck Malik, melting the tips of the spiked ice that had built up in his chest over the long months. But the coldness was far from gone and both knew it would take redoubled effort to stoke the fire once again.

“And you have tried before?”

“Did you not try to forget me not long ago?” Malik glanced away as if struck by his own accusation getting thrown back at him. “Please, Malik. See reason.”

Malik gave in, hating himself for it but so needing the animosity to withdraw. He had had enough conflict with this man. Any more and he would deem Altaїr not worth the effort. But then he knew that Altaїr would always be worth the effort. “We will try your idiotic plan until it fails. I only do this because you make it impossible to stay away from you, though I do not hold on to a hope.”

The relief that washed over Altaїr was almost tangible. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For seeing reason, you stubborn Dai.” And there it was, that crooked smirk that he loved and hated in equal measure.

Malik scowled, though not from anger. “Wash yourself before coming to me.”

That made Altaїr pause, his brow softening with hurt. “Is her scent so repulsive to you?”

“No, but you stink of the dirt of the road and of horse.” With that the crooked grin returned and Altaїr stepped out to do as he was commanded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was adequately heart-wrenching. And this conflict is far from over. No one can get over such deep jealousy with one conversation.
> 
> Okay, get ready for more major time jumps. I'm getting ready to finish this baby up!


	38. Reunion in Revelry

“I still don’t see the point of detailed maps.”

Malik did not bother glancing up at the man hovering above his work, leaned on the opposite side of the counter in his Bureau. He knew the man’s face like the back of his hand, the creases on his forehead that had become etched in his skin over the years, that same crooked smirk he had always carried on his lips. “Not everyone can view the land from on high, as you do.”

It had been a conversation they had had so many times over the years passed since Malik became the cartographer for the Brotherhood. It was a safe conversation, one not having to do with Altaїr’s family. Those were always painful for Malik to hear, not because of the existence of Altaїr’s sons and of how they were growing, but the way his eyes lit up as he spoke of them with such pride. The ache of jealousy had subsided over the nine years since the birth of his first son, but there was still a cold knot that formed every time the topic came around to them. Altaїr was more than discreet when mentioning his wife, knowing how the topic hurt Malik. Even over those nine years Malik had still not forgiven Altaїr for loving another, though the passion that had backed his anger had long since subsided. She was a fact that would not change and Malik had grown to accept that she too was a part of Altaїr’s life, just as his sons were.

Altaїr fell into silence, leaning on the counter in the Bureau office and watching as Malik added a few lines onto the paper with his quill. Disquiet emanated off of him like a cloud as Malik continued to work. After an extended silence Malik finally spoke up, never stopping his work. “Something troubles you. What is it?”

That appeared to snap the man out of his thoughts. He went on, tone businesslike and to the point. “I am leaving to travel. I feel that the work of the Brotherhood would best be spread out beyond Masyaf and Jerusalem. The Templars have influence throughout the known world. It is time for us to do so as well.” So he was leaving. It was not like Malik was unused to extended absences. As his sons were growing up, Altaїr had often not visited for half a year or more.

Malik tried to not let his disappointment show in his voice, setting his quill down to allow the lines he just put down to dry. “So how long will you be gone?”

His hand was captured in Altaїr’s with almost jarring intensity, enclosed between his palms like an ever so loving embrace. That forced Malik to look up into those amber eyes for the first time in the conversation. “I was hoping that you would join me.”

Malik was taken aback, though he made no move to pull his hand away. It was a rare afternoon where he was not expecting an Assassin to report in, so he allowed the contact to linger. It was all too rare to have the chance to be so casually intimate that he knew to cherish those moments while they lasted. “Me? What use would I be?”

“More use than you can imagine.” The sincerity with which he spoke with struck Malik anew. “Even with all of my study of the Apple, you still are more knowledgeable, more logical, than I could ever be. You are diplomatic while I am focused on action.” Malik’s hand was squeezed between Altaїr’s palms, those amber eyes seeming to burn with such earnestness that Malik’s chest constricted. Even after all that time, Altaїr could still illicit such a reaction from him. “I need you there with me.”

After all those years, Malik knew how to read the man, knew the underlying feelings behind that sometimes almost stony expression. Now Altaїr was practically screaming those unsaid sentiments and Malik voiced them. “It has been hard for me to be away from you as well. But you were raising Darim and Sef. They required more of your time than me.” It shocked Malik that he did not feel the usual pang of jealousy and guilt when he spoke the names of Altaїr’s sons.

Altaїr nodded, apparently also shocked by Malik’s lack of animosity. “They are old enough now that I can focus on other things. Not only on the Brotherhood, but on you.”

Malik’s words caught in his throat and he found he could not bring himself to voice them. He was honored, he felt guilty for splitting his partner’s attention away from other things that he loved. Instead, he went to business, drawing his hand away from Altaїr’s and bringing out the tome that held the names of all the Assassins that lived within Jerusalem. He flipped absently through the pages as he spoke. “I will need to find a replacement to take my place here.”

That made a wide grin spread across Altaїr’s face. He apparently had already thought upon this. “The man who was once your pupil will do.”

That gave Malik pause. “Naji?”

“He has worked hard to follow in your footsteps, though I don’t think he will ever be as capable with a sword as you.” No, Malik would suspect not. The sword had taken his best friend from him; books were far less likely to kill.

“I hope he has not followed too closely.”

Altaїr gave a soft smile at the dark humor. “I will see to it that he is made a Rafiq and that he moves his family here.”

Malik shut the tome in front of him slowly, his mind caught up in ponderings. “So he has a wife.”

“And a son, yes.”

Malik could not help a humorless chuckle at this news. “It makes me wonder what else I have missed in Masyaf whilst I was here.”

Apparently Altaїr had also thought upon this as he readily had an answer. “When we return from our travels, you should come back to Masyaf. Your wisdom would better suit the Brotherhood there.”

It sounded a marvelously sound plan, save for one detail. “But Maria…” Still the name hurt to say, but the anger no longer rose to the surface as it once had. It was true that time mended wounds, but still there was scarring to be endured.

“I have already spoken with her about this. She knows how much you mean to me and is more than happy to see you back home.”

That gave Malik pause. Certainly not. She could not. “She knows… about us?”

“She always has.”

Malik reeled at this information. And here he thought that he was the secret lover, betrayer to their marriage. Right then and there all preconceptions of the woman were thrown to the wind. Malik had been expecting her to be a jealous wife, overprotective to the point of making others fear her wrath if they ever stood between her and her husband. If she knew the nature of her husband’s relationship with Malik and had not ridden down immediately to Jerusalem to put a blade to his neck, then she was one to be revered. She had almost bested Altaїr with a sword upon their first meeting in Jerusalem, Malik had no doubt that she would be quite capable of cutting him down with his disadvantage of having only one arm to fight back with. Perhaps Malik had misjudged her all this while.

“So will you join me?” That question cut through Malik’s storming thoughts, bringing him sudden clarity.

Malik cupped his hand around Altaїr’s neck, bringing their foreheads together. “Of course I will.” There was no other answer to be given. It was time to put aside his stubborn jealousy and face his reality. Altaїr had another life and he was offering to have Malik brought into it. It was an honor and Malik would treat it as such.

Altaїr allowed the softest of smiles to pass over his face. “Then we will leave for Masyaf as soon as Naji arrives. My sons have been waiting to meet you for so long they have started to think that you are only a legend.”

That made a smirk cross Malik’s lips, so tauntingly close to Altaїr’s. “I trust you have not filled their minds with grandiose tales that I will have trouble following up with.”

“Only the truth, but that does not make the stories any less grand.”

Malik scoffed at the words, but the grin did not fade. “Are you trying to charm your way into my bed, Altaїr? You know very well that I have work to do, especially if I am to pass on my position to another.”

That crooked grin was back with renewed vigor. “You know me too well, you stubborn Dai.”

“Good. Now go do what you came here to do.”

Altaїr quickly closed the short distance between them and planted a kiss to Malik’s lips. The touch lingered for a moment before he broke away, flashing the smirk that Malik knew so well before he departed from the Bureau.

\---

It had been nearly a decade since he left the city and traveled. With Altaїr at his side, Malik left his Bureau in the capable hands of Naji. He had grown into a fine young man, the black robes of a Rafiq regal on his strong shoulders. Malik had no doubt of his capability to continue his work.

The ride was hard, Malik so unused to the saddle after so long of being stagnant behind his desk. He had kept in shape to be sure, but riding was another ordeal entirely. At the end of each day of travel his whole body was sore. Malik saw Altaїr’s glances of concern but he simply waved him off. It was only a matter of getting his bearings, and lying with Altaїr when they made camp each night helped soothe the aches. For the first time Malik felt his age. He was nearly forty. Malik knew men in the city who were his age and much less mobile. He attributed his still good health to the years of training his body and his continued efforts to stay strong. Even with only one arm he still wanted to be as active in the Brotherhood as he could be. He had to be on this mission with Altaїr.

So Malik pressed on, the aches abating slowly over the five days of travel.

As they came upon more and more familiar roads, a great trepidation overcame Malik. The proof of Altaїr’s other life grew ever closer. For so many years he had been able to ignore that Altaїr had that life, but now he would finally have to face it. After refusing for years to meet the woman Altaїr had married, she was but a few hours away. But now his feelings were in confusion. He had been afraid to reveal the true nature of his and Altaїr’s relationship, to betray their marriage and put slander on Altaїr’s name as the Mentor. Maria knew of their relations, Malik now knew. This brought out a whole new slew of uncertainty. How much did she know? How much did she accept it?

These questions were still storming in his mind when they started up the hill towards Masyaf. There was a hand on his shoulder and when he turned to look, Altaїr was giving him a reassuring nod. They continued up and when they passed the gate Malik was struck with awe as if he had received a blow in the gut.

The city was beautiful. Buildings that had burned during the siege had been rebuilt, larger and grander than before. Even here, at the very edge of the city the streets were bustling with people going about their daily business. It was astonishing the changes that had come over the city since Malik had last set foot on those dusty roads. But as Malik stepped out of the stables, he noticed that the roads were no longer dusty. They were newly paved in cobblestone.

Altaїr was at his shoulder as Malik admired the flourishing city he still called home. “Is it different than what you remember?”

It took Malik a long moment to find words. “Thirteen years is a long time to be away. It seems Masyaf has changed more than I have in that time.”

“It is bigger and stronger than it was before.” There was a certain amount of pride in his words and rightly so.

Malik continued walking along the road towards the towering fortress that stood ever sentinel above the city. As much as the city had changed, the fortress had not. It was still large and imposing, its gray walls severe on the hilltop. And yet it still held the air of protection. “Is this all from your influence on the Brotherhood?”

“It is from our combined efforts, Malik. You were as much a part of making changes to the Brotherhood as I was.” Those words warmed Malik. It seemed that being Mentor had not taken away Altaїr’s hard earned humility.

They came upon the market, so much fuller than Malik had ever seen it. There were market stands packed together, selling such exotic and rich wares that Malik had only seen in the richer districts of Jerusalem. It seemed that Altaїr had also been hard at work opening up trading routes to Masyaf. It would explain the wealth in the build of the city to be sure.

The crowd in the market was thicker than Malik had ever seen. There were some vaguely familiar faces and many he had never seen before. But there was one face that popped out of the crowd that caught his attention. It was a young boy, his face strangely familiar. The boy turned his head in their direction and a bright excitement overcame his features. Then it struck him. The boy looked exactly how Altaїr had as a child.

“Baba!” The boy cried in joy and he sprinted on short legs, uncoordinated with his youth. Malik stood frozen in place and looked on as Altaїr caught the child in his arms and lifted him in the air, the child shrieking in his mirth.

Yet again Malik was struck by this reunion, at how happy Altaїr was holding his son in his arms. There was so much love in that simple gesture, so much brightness that he had so rarely seen in Altaїr in all their years together.

Malik choked on his first word, stopped, collected himself, and went on. “So this must be one of your sons.”

Altaїr set the boy down and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke to his son in such warm tones that Malik had not heard from the man in all his years of knowing him. “Sef, this is Malik Al-Sayf. Do you remember me telling you about him?”

Sef’s eyes widened with something akin to awe. “Dai Malik?” Those large light brown eyes turn upwards to Malik, almost worship-like respect in that wide gaze.

Malik looked to Altaїr, trying to master his shock. “You told your sons of me?”

It was Sef who answered, almost shaking with excitement. “Of course Baba told me and Darim about you! You really don’t have a left arm!” He giggled and looked at Malik with glee. Malik was lost for words, suddenly quite uncomfortable. It was a rare occurrence that his lost arm was brought to attention in conversation. If it had been anyone other than a child, and the child of his partner none the less, he would have given him a strong deterrent from discussing his personal history. As it was, Malik dropped the issue.

Altaїr then turned his attention to Malik. “My sons enjoy hearing stories about our missions.”

That brought a dark smirk to his lips. “Not all of them I hope.” Altaїr caught himself, choking on his answer. Sef answered for him.

“Baba tells me and Darim about how strong and wise you are.” The boy sounded so proud.

Altaїr grinned down at his son. “Speaking of your brother, where is he?”

“Darim and Mama are up in the library,” Sef readily answered.

Altaїr then turned to Malik, his cheer overshadowed by sudden seriousness and compassion. “Are you ready to meet Darim and Maria?”

Still in shock at the sudden and joyful meeting of Sef, Malik nodded stiffly. “I had might as well.”

A hand came to rest on Malik’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. Amber eyes stared deeply into him as Altaїr spoke. “They have been waiting a long time to meet you.”

“Then let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should note here that I'm not going to antagonize Maria but also a threesome is outside the scope of this fic. 
> 
> Also a question on archive warnings: Should I put that there is major character death? Since I'm pretty much following the timeline of the games I feel like people are expecting certain people to die, but should I put the warning on or not?


	39. Understanding in Union

Chapter 39: Understanding in Union

Sef spoke rapidly the whole way up the hill, pulling his father excitedly by his hand. He was speaking almost nonsense about all that had transpired over the two weeks that Altaїr had been gone. Altaїr listened intently to his son, appearing to decipher what he said with a trained ear for this sort of childish rambling, He stole a glance sideways towards Malik, flashing him his crooked grin.

“He certainly is spirited,” Malik commented, Sef still prattling on.

Another flash of something crossed Altaїr’s expression. Was it fondness? “He gets that from his mother.”

They continued up the hill, receiving nods of respectful greeting from the guards standing watch along the upwards path towards the fortress. It was a far cry from the reception Malik had received the last time he walked up this way, when all minds had been taken over by their mad ruler. While in the Bureau, he was treated with respect to be sure, but here they bowed to him equally as respectful as they bowed to their Mentor.

“They all know the hard work you have done for the Brotherhood,” Altaїr interrupted Malik’s thoughts, apparently noticing just what was on his mind. “You may not have the title of Mentor, but you have the respect of having earned it.”

“And I am sure none of that came from you speaking over highly of me.” Malik was skeptical.

“I did not need to. Your ideas and actions earned their respect. My sons on the other hand…”

“Baba!” Their conversation was interrupted by the overzealous and impatient seven year-old. “Hurry up!” His eyes fell upon Malik and once again he seemed star struck. Malik knew that look. The man his father spoke of and immortalized in all his grand stories was _here_ and he was _real_.

“You can run ahead if you like,” Altaїr suggested, to which he got a vicious head shake in response. Altaїr grinned down at his son. “We will be there shortly.”

“Impatient too?” Malik chided quietly, not so loud so that Sef could hear. “I wonder who he got that from.” That earned him a snide glance that was enough of a comment in itself.

The three were soon passing through the open gate of the fortress, the ring of steel and the thrum of bow strings a familiar din as they echoed on the high gray walls surrounding the training arena. It felt like a precession, walking up the slope towards the library. Assassins left and right stopped whatever they were doing to bow their heads at the approach of the Mentor and the esteemed Dai. Soon, they entered the coolness and the quiet of the library, seeming even grander than it had been under Al Mualim’s rule. It seemed that Altaїr’s pursuit of knowledge had encouraged the librarians to further expand the library’s resources and to restore previously crumbling scrolls.

Sef pulled his father right and wove between the tall bookcases. Malik followed more slowly, his trepidation growing stronger with each step.

“Mama!” Sef cried out in jubilance as he dragged Altaїr around a corner. Malik stopped in his tracks, something seeming to seize his chest and prevented him from walking forward. Sef continued, “Baba is back!”

Malik silently chastised himself for being so afraid of meeting one woman. He had gone into countless missions to meet a person he was to kill, but meeting someone he was supposed to like? It took all of his courage to take those final steps around the corner to catch a glance at the woman Altaїr had deemed adequate enough to hold a place in his heart. Malik looked on as a woman with silky brown hair greeted the child and stood, a smile gracing her lips. She was pretty, if not foreign. It was not every day he saw an English woman, her skin so fair.

As Maria’s eyes fell upon Altaїr her smile broadened, a small touch of mischief and a joke crossing her expression. Her accent was as foreign as her face. “Husband, how is it that the entire city knows that you have arrived before I see you?” Malik looked away as they shared a brief embrace. It was such a simple exchange and yet it tore at his chest to see it. After all those years of feeling as though the jealousy had passed, it returned with a vengeance. It was one thing entirely to get used to the idea and another to witness proof. Malik took a step back, partially concealing himself behind the bookshelf just to his right.

Malik could almost see the crooked grin on Altaїr’s lips when he spoke, though the man was facing away from him. “Word spreads faster than my feet can carry me. Where is Darim?”

As if on cue, a slightly older child called out, though he still kept his voice respectfully low as they were in the library. “Baba!” A lanky young boy hurried over, a large tome in his arms. He ran awkwardly over to the reunion and dropped the book on the table before clutching at his father’s waist. Altaїr was utterly receptive to this and once again Malik was struck by how _happy_ he was greeting his child. He was going to give this up for months to go spread the Assassin Brotherhood?

“I have someone for you to meet.” The words sent a shocking chill through Malik. Altaїr spoke to both his eldest son and his wife. Malik looked on in utter terror, though well concealed, as Altaїr turned, amber eyes locking onto him. As if sensing his trepidation, he gave a small nod. Malik was compelled to step forward, feeling as though he were encroaching upon the life that Altaїr had built without him. It was a space where he did not belong. There was no room, no-

“Malik.” Maria’s voice was so warm, so inviting. It caught him off guard. She pressed past Altaїr and her sons and before Malik could react he was in her arms, a comforting and welcoming yet brief embrace. She stood back, those entrancingly unique blue-gray eyes looking him over. “Altaїr has spoken so much about you.”

Before Malik could stutter out a reply, he was saved by Darim. “Is it really Dai Malik, Baba?” He sounded just as awe-filled as his younger brother had, bright amber eyes - just like his father - staring widely up at him.

Maria gracefully stepped back to stand by her husband.

Altaїr took the opportunity to introduce them. “Darim, this is Malik.”

Darim inclined his head, pressing a fist into the opposite hand in the most formal greeting he could give to his superior in the Brotherhood. “Pleased to meet you, Dai.”

Malik could not stop the small smirk from crossing his cheeks. It was not often he was greeted so formally. “It seems your father has taught you more manners than he himself possesses.”

Before an explosion of questions could be fired towards Malik, Maria tactfully ushered her children off. “Go to your lessons. You wouldn’t want Rauf angry, would you?”

Both boys gasped and rush off. It had been a long time since he had been in the company of children and he found their enthusiasm and energy overwhelming. He was far more used to solemn men in his company, though with the children gone, leaving the three in a tight silence, Malik would have wished nothing more than to have them back to break the tension.

It was Maria who spoke first. “You must be tired from your journey. We have prepared a house for you to have until you leave and for when you return again.” We as in her and Altaїr. Malik was not sure he would ever get used to having to live alongside and witness the woman he shared Altaїr with. All he could do was cope.

“That is generous.” He forced himself to be as neutral as possible, though he still felt tight with anxiety. He felt a stranger in his own home city.

Altaїr continued the sentiment, explaining. It seemed he was also trying to break the chill that hung in the air. “Since you had me sell your family home, I have given you my old house.”

“Altaїr thought you would be more comfortable there than in the fortress.” As she spoke his name, Maria placed a hand on her husband’s arm. It was a casual touch and yet it hurt Malik more than he thought it would. Coping was going to take some getting used to.

Malik gave a small smirk, shoving his jealousy to the side.” It seems he knows me well.”

“We all wish to get to know you, Malik.” Maria was so sincere in her words that the jealousy abated for the moment. It caught him, brought him more to himself.

“It took me a long time to come home.” Malik was surprised at how easily the sentiment revealed itself, how easily he voiced his own thoughts.

Altaїr spoke next. “You are here now. That’s all that matters.” The men share a meaningful glance, a rare moment between them where neither was guarding their emotions.

Maria tactfully let the moment linger before stepping back in. “Altaїr, why don’t you get him settled? I have some work here still.” She set a welcoming hand on Malik’s arm. “I would love it if you would join us for dinner tonight.”

With that, Malik nodded and departed the library with Altaїr. The whole way down the hill Altaїr left his partner to his stunned silence. They knew each other well enough to know when the other needed time to think in silence.

When they arrived at the door to Altaїr’s home, now Malik’s he supposed, they stopped. Malik steeled himself and stepped over the threshold. Instantly he was overcome by the smell that was uniquely Altaїr. His game board was there, the checkered surface just waiting for the pieces he brought back from Jerusalem. The bags he brought with him had been placed in the corner by a novice.

Malik let a small chuckle fall from his lips as he glanced about. “It looks the same.”

“Malik.” At that serious tone, Malik turned to give his partner his full attention. “It can’t be like how it was before. I won’t be able to spend every night with you.” As firm as he was, Malik knew it hurt the man to say those words.

“I would not expect that,” Malik agreed, though he glanced away, almost disappointed but hating that he felt that way. It was selfish, he knew. A gloved hand cupped his cheek and he felt the man gently step before him, felt the heat emanating from his body.

“That does not mean that I will spend every night away.”

In response, Malik only pulled his arm around Altaїr, crushing his lips against the man’s, closing the distance between them. They were locked in passion that neither of them wished to break away from. It had been thirteen years since they had both been in that house, that safe haven. It was time to reacquaint themselves with the space and they did so for as long as they had the strength to meet as lovers in the space that had always allowed them to be just that.

That evening Malik was welcomed into the Mentor’s living quarters, warm and smelling of wonderful food. Malik was silently grateful that Altaїr had married someone who could cook. Otherwise his whole family would have starved. He was immediately bombarded by Altaїr’s children, each demanding for him to tell stories of his adventures. He was, after all, the great Dai Malik whom their father had told them about since they were babes. It took a moment to calm them down enough to sit and listen, but once Malik began his stories they fell into an awed silence.

A bit awkward in the beginning, Malik eventually found his stride and told the boys of the first mission he had shared with their father. One where they each taught the other a valuable lesson: partnership meant always being there for the other man. He spoke of how Altaїr had saved him from the cruel grip of a giant and brought him to safety. As Malik finished the story, he found both Altaїr and Maria listening in as well.

Dinner was announced and they ate, the boys dominating the conversation by relaying all that had transpired over the two weeks Altaїr had been gone and telling their own versions of the stories that their father had told them of his adventures. They spoke of battles, of infiltration, and of a chalice. That topic piqued Malik’s attention. Never before had he heard that story. It donned on him that Altaїr divulged information to his own children that he had never even told Malik. That simple thought struck through his pleasant mood, sinking his heart for the remainder of the evening.

It was upon this subject that Malik confronted Altaїr with as the man walked with him down the hill to his new home after dinner had come to a close. “It seems your children know more about you than I do. You never told me of a chalice.”

Altaїr sighed and took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “Those missions I did for Al Mualim were done in the utmost secrecy. I could not tell you about them.”

“Yet you tell your children?” Malik’s voice was not nearly as sharp as he wanted it to be.

“Those stories are just that now; stories. I would tell you them now if that is what you ask.” Malik simply shook his head in response. A long silence stretched out between them as they walked through the dark streets of Masyaf. It took Altaїr a long moment to speak again. “Malik, this is difficult for everyone, not just you.”

Malik could not help the bitterness in his reply. “Really? Seems everyone is ecstatic.”

“Sef and Darim only think the best of you. Maria just hides her qualms well.” And there it was. They reached Malik’s new home, Altaїr unconsciously opening the door first and entering. It seemed old habits were still heavily in place. Malik followed, shutting the door behind him.

“Are you certain she is fine with me here?” Malik had to ask. He had to know. “What have you told her to convince her that I will not try to steal you away?”

Altaїr shrugged. “She is an independent woman. I can’t tell her what to think, I can only trust her judgment.”

Not satisfied with that, Malik persisted. “And she says that it is okay for you to split your allegiance between the two of us?”

“She trusts me.” It was the simplest of responses but that did not mean it was any less truthful.

Malik let out an unsatisfied sigh. “I suppose that is all we can ask of anyone.”

Altaїr nodded at that. He glanced to the door purposefully. “I should be getting back.”

Malik spoke without quite meaning to, letting his inner thought be voiced. “I have never slept in your bed without you before.” He hated how weak it made him sound, like he was pleading for Altaїr to stay. Perhaps he was.

“This is not my bed any longer. It is yours.” The voice of reason. How rare indeed.

Malik could not bear to look into those piercing amber eyes. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Suddenly arms were about him and he was being swept into a tight embrace. “But it will not always be empty of me,” Altaїr reminded him. It was a promise that Malik knew he would keep.

Malik crushed their lips together, arm pulling them together possessively.”I will see to that.” For a moment Malik toyed with the idea of pushing the man to the cushions and have his way with him as they had done earlier that day.

His plan was thwarted when Altaїr pulled away gently. “Goodnight, Malik.”

He knew it would be too good to be true. So it had begun. “And to you.”

\---

The night was as fitful as Malik had anticipated, though he had long learned to ease himself back to sleep. It had been the only way to get rest in the months after Kadar’s demise. After his morning routine of getting breakfast in the market and eating it in a remote place in the city as the sun rose, Malik made his way up the hill to the library. The training yard was already full of young Assassins being instructed by a man Malik did not recognize. He stepped up the path towards the library when a voice broke through his wandering thoughts.

“Malik!”

He glanced over just in time to find a sheathed sword being tossed his way. He caught it with ease and looked to see who it was that tossed it to him. Malik hardly recognized the woman, her brown hair pulled back, wearing a tunic and trousers and not the dress she had worn the day before.

Maria had a challenging gleam in her eye. As mothering as she had been the day before, now she was a warrior. The change was startling. It seemed she was more herself with a sword in her hand than with a book or a cooking spoon. As unimpressed with her as he had been the night before, Malik then began to realize just why Altaїr had chosen her to be his wife. “I have heard that you are still quite the accomplished swordsman even with only one arm. Care to join me so I can test that rumor for myself?”

Malik stepped down into the training area to stand before the woman, a haughty, challenging grin on her face. He finally saw her clearly, saw her in her element. Not only was she pretty, she had a fiery spirit. She was challenging Malik, testing his mettle. Was he as great as her husband made him out to be?

“It has been a long while since I sparred within these walls and I know that you have almost bested Altaїr more than once.” It was a simple statement of fact.

That haughty grin only grew. “Are you saying that I am at an advantage? Shall I bind my own left arm to even the odds?”

“I have been practicing swordplay with one arm for more than a dozen years. That would put me at too much of an advantage over you.” Malik was impressed at the ease with which he carried out this playful banter with the woman he shared Altaїr with.

“Unsheathe your sword and we shall see.”

Malik did so, shaking the blunted practice sword from its sheath and slipping into a fighting stance. Maria did the same, blue-gray eyes piercing in sudden concentration. Malik studied her stance, the style revealing her European training. He adjusted his own stance to one more suited to fighting against Maria’s foreign technique. She stepped forward, slashing at Malik in a practice blow. Malik easily parried, their blades scraping and ringing in the open courtyard. It was a soft strike, testing the waters. Malik took the next strike, withholding his strength just as Maria had done. This too was easily glanced off. A few more blows were exchanged, neither combatant appearing to be challenged by the soft play of blunted blades.

Malik paused, annoyance at the gentleness of the sparring taking its toll. “Are you going easy on me because I am a cripple?” Beyond the façade of banter was a challenge, Malik raising his sword to catch yet another glancing slash.

That haughty grin was back, the challenge not so discreet in Maria’s reply. “Are you going easy on me because I am a woman?”

Understanding passed between them in that moment and both came to the same conclusion at once. The next their swords met, it was with ferocious strength on both ends, the clang of steel on steel echoing all around the courtyard. The grin of triumph on Maria’s face reflected Malik’s sentiment exactly. _There it is. There is the person Altaїr respects_.

Their sparring drew the attention of the surrounding Assassins. It was not every day that the famous one-armed Dai engaged in a match with the wife of the Mentor.

They continued on, testing one another in both strength and technique, neither holding back any longer. They each scored equal points in landing blows and strikes, though neither aimed to injure the other. It was a test for each to see the true strength of the other. Malik relied on hard-trained technique and calculating Maria’s movements while Maria relied on perseverance and speed. They were equally matched, it seemed. That was, until in a series of complicated steps and exchanges of blows and one miscalculated step on Malik’s part gave Maria a window of opportunity. She took it without hesitation, quickly sweeping back and catching Malik off balance and sending him crashing to the dusty ground. With no left arm to catch him, he went down hard and the sparring match came to an end with himself the loser.

As a wave of bitterness began washing over him, a hand came into his vision, offering him help up. He was going to ignore the offer when Maria’s pleasant voice caught his attention. “That was unfair of me to take advantage of you like that. You fought well.”

“A swordsman must always use his - her - opponent’s disadvantage to her advantage,” Malik conceded, taking the offered hand. He forced the bitterness to abate, knowing it was unfair of him to feel that way. She had won the match fairly. With surprising strength, Maria hoisted Malik to his feet. “You fought well too. You are indeed everything that Altaїr said you were.”

The haughty grin dimmed to a questioning smile. “Is that all he told you of me?”

Malik weighed his answer before he spoke. He could reply defensively, he could reply with anger. He settled on replying truthfully. “I honestly did not want him to speak of you.” That reply made Maria’s face fall, but Malik continued. What use was his wisdom if he did not use it in all areas of his life? “But now that I have met you I wish I had listened.”

The warmth of Maria’s acceptance of his words was almost overwhelming. She placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and she spoke with such sincerity, it made Malik’s chest clench. “Altaїr speaks highly of you but it is another thing entirely to meet you in person. I can see why he cares so deeply for you.”

“And you,” Malik admitted, though not without a slight hesitancy. He knew the jealousy would never fully abate, but now he could see that Altaїr’s affections were not ill placed and were equal between the two of them. It was enough reassurance for the time being.

“You know,” Maria divulged, “I still have not been able to best Altaїr in the sparring ring.”

Malik felt the corners of his mouth lift. “There are not many who can and many who have tried and failed, myself among the latter. Perhaps with both of our strength we could beat him together.” To that, Maria nodded in complete accordance. They fell into a companionable silence that Malik never would have expected them to reach.

The moment passed. Maria took a step back and gracefully changed the subject. “The city and the market have changed much over the past few years. Would you care to join me and reacquaint yourself?” With that suggestion, the two lovers of Altaїr, thus adequately reconciled for a time, walked companionably down to the market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. I had been wondering about what I should make Maria do when she met Malik and I feel I came up with a good scenario. She is a woman of action. She would want to use her sword before her words. I hope I satisfied people's need for awesome Maria time. Also, if you want to imagine that they have a threesome at some point, be my guest. I won't be writing it or hinting at it but if you want to have that little headcanon, go right ahead. If not, carry on as usual!  
> I also added the archive warning for major character death because, just so you know, everyone who is supposed to die in the canon timeline of Assassin's Creed has died/is going to die. Cheers!
> 
> Stay tuned for next week's exciting installment of Silent Discourse!


	40. Blame in Burning

Chapter 40: Blame in Burning

The long, rolling hills before their tired horses gave way to a broad river and beyond the water lay a city, more grand than any either Assassin had seen. Its domes and spires seemed to scrape the very clouds in the sky. After a long two and a half weeks on the road, Constantinople lay before them. The capitol of the Byzantine Empire held up to its rich name, though it had been weakened by the great fires that raged through the city not one year before their arrival. It was a city of turmoil, a city under constant attack and yet it remained strong.

The Crusaders, rather than marching yet again on Jerusalem, had turned their attention to this capitol. After laying the city to siege the Crusaders were able to put an emperor to share the throne with the standing emperor. Riots had broken out in the city and the city burned for three days. The Assassin who collected this information spoke at length about this great fire and the devastation it wrought. Before their departure to Constantinople the Assassins were informed that the elder emperor had died and not too long after his son, the co emperor, had been killed. The citizens were in a state of unrest after this recent murder. Thus was the climate of the city that Altaїr and Malik had traveled to.

Altaїr and Malik, tired and dusty from the long journey, crossed the river on a ferry and entered the metropolis. The citizens were nervous, swiftly moving about their business. Not so much as one musician plucked a tune in the market. It seemed the spirit of the entire city had been broken. Either that or tensions were so high that anyone stepping out of place would start another riot. Of all the speculations from hearing news of the city, neither man had expected this.

They followed the directions to the safe house secured by a younger Assassin scout, who Altaїr had sent before them just for that purpose. The directions led them down a narrow alleyway and to a beaten wooden door. The two men exchanged a glance and pressed in. The safe house was little more than a storage room with dusty floors and empty barrels lying about. Every revolution had to begin somewhere, even if it were just an abandoned storage unit.

Malik dropped his travel bags to the ground, watching as the clouds of light dust billowed out from underneath them. “It is not exactly like my Bureau, but it is a start.”

“You did not need to build your own Bureau.” Altaїr gave his bit of reason.

That brought a small smile to Malik’s lips. “And neither did you build the fortress in Masyaf. I wonder if you are too spoiled by your rooms in the Mentor’s tower to feel at comfort here.”

His cheeky words were met with swift retaliation. “This is the only comfort I need.” Arms were about him, hands wandering to more intimate areas.

Malik would have laughed if the sudden desiring touches were not so desperate and needing. “So you haven’t settled your desires after all these years? I am not sure if I should feel inadequate or self satisfied.”

“Do you need to feel satisfied?” The words were a growl in his ear. Answering in the negative would have been a lie.

“If I needed so bad to have you satisfy me in this dusty crypt, I would truly be a desperate man.” Malik teased his partner, still stubbornly making no move to receive or reciprocate the man’s touch.

Altaїr was not so easily deceived. “Are you not so desperate as all that?”

“I see you certainly are.” Malik pushed him off though not without a lusting glance. It indeed had been a long journey and fleeting touches as they rested for each night had done little to suppress their urges. Malik almost felt a young man again, so desperate for sexual release that he felt his life depended on it. “Let’s clean this up and make it decently livable. Then ask me again.” Never before had Malik witnessed Altaїr be so dedicated to a cleaning task. Malik left to retrieve their dinner from the nearest market and when he returned, the floors had been swept, revealing cobblestone that had lain beneath all that dust. A fire had been lit in the tiny hearth and their sleeping pads had been unrolled in the far corner. Needless to say, Malik was entirely too impressed.

Wordlessly, Altaїr pulled Malik into their temporary abode, foregoing their dinner in exchange for more carnal needs. As soon as Malik’s back hit their makeshift bed, Altaїr was upon him, ravishing him in every way he knew. It seemed he did not know where to begin, so he began everywhere at once, the desperate motions catching Malik and intensifying his desire for the man. The unsettling feeling of a city in turmoil was left to be dealt with for another time, their mission to spread the Brotherhood to this grand city forgotten for the moment. All that mattered was them, together in that tiny storage room, the fire keeping the evening chill at bay, and the potent desire for pleasure.

They made love, so desperate for one another after so many days of teasing, tired touches. Neither man wanted to release the other from their tight embrace, naked bodies pressed together and moving ever so enticingly. Altaїr rutted his sex against Malik’s, biting on his shoulder to still his moans and grunts of exertion. Malik met this with his own undulations, his hand clutching at Altaїr’s ass and coaxing more movement from him. He choked down his own moans, not wishing for a passerby to hear their copulations. This act was decreed against the law throughout the Byzantine Empire, though the public in Constantinople often did not persecute those who had been accused. Still he quieted himself.

The sweat that cumulated between their bodies added to the slick movements of their members as they slid together so enticingly.

It was not just about the sex or even the pleasure they got from the act. There was certain understanding and mutuality to the need to be close. For so long they had been deprived of such closeness that both felt the need to rekindle the flame that once burned so hot between them. It was not about the sex but the deep level of connection that they reached while naked in each other’s arms. There was ultimate trust and a sense of freedom in it. They were so familiar with each other that it felt like returning home just to be in the other’s embrace. It was the act that made Malik realize that no matter where he went, as long as the other was there, it became home.

Once they were both properly satisfied, they tucked into dinner, both still quite nude. Neither minded, for they knew that they would simply have to undress again to continue their evening until they both collapsed from exhaustion from their travels and from their copulations.

\---

Three weeks passed in agonizing slowness. Each day both Assassins ventured out and spoke to the people, trying to gain their trust and to have them listen to their plight. Without Brothers from the city the Brotherhood would never be true to the needs of its citizens. Thus far only three men had agreed to listen to their Creed. One offered to house both Altaїr and Malik and to offer his rooms to be a more permanent base for the Brotherhood. Malik was not sad to see the tiny storage room where he and Altaїr had stayed since their arrival, though he was disappointed by the lack of privacy this new arrangement brought. He could tell that sentiment was reflected equally in Altaїr, though they both knew the Brotherhood came before their own lusts.

The days were spent teaching these three new men all that the Brotherhood was and could offer to the city. The nights were spent in social houses and lounges, trying to spread the word further. The crusaders would try to take the town again, they told the citizens in hushed tones. The crusaders were being led by the Templar Order. They explained the Templar plight, of what would come if they managed to take over the metropolis. These hushed conversations began a buzz of excitement. The unrest of the city appeared to be working to their advantage. It was a word of hope that the Assassins were bringing to the people of Constantinople. That the Brotherhood was secret and only worked in the shadows helped gain confidence in the citizens who were so afraid of riots and further burnings.

These secret meetings in bars and lounges continued for some more weeks. Gaining the trust of these few citizens was taking time, precious time while the crusaders plotted their next attack. It was nearing two months since they first entered the city when the first few men approached Malik and Altaїr, pledging their loyalty to the Creed and to the Brotherhood.

“If we were back in Masyaf,” Altaїr explained to the three men upon their declaration, “I would hold a ceremony to welcome you into the Brotherhood. But we are far from home and still far from having a foothold in this city. When I can I will get you your robes and your equipment. When I return to Masyaf I will send more Brothers to further teach you our ways, teach you skills with sword and stealth.”

Upon hearing this, the three men appeared overjoyed and thanked Altaїr for his bringing of the Brotherhood into the city that needed them the most. Upon bestowing honors onto them, a disturbance that would shatter all that they had worked towards rumbled through the vast city.

It began with a distant crack, the sound echoing on the high buildings. Next to come was the discernible shake of the earth.

“An earthquake?” Malik questioned, though not all of the signs added up.

The three men’s expressions instantly turned to concern, horror reflecting in each of their eyes from some not so distant memory. “No,” one of them spoke gravely. “Siege weapons from the crusader ships. The attack is upon us.”

A second boom resonated through the walls of the new Assassin base, each man standing ready. This time the shake was accompanied by distant shrieks of despair. What little confidence the citizens had in withstanding more attacks was lost with the first scream. Malik knew the way of crowds, how each individual took their surroundings and added to the reaction until the entire mob welled up into a frenzy. The city would be in utter fearful chaos by the time the next blow came upon the watch towers or wall.

Malik could see the fear crossing the three men’s faces. They had seen horrors before but still they were not trained to put thought before instinct. In that moment Malik knew his and Altaїr’s endeavor was bound to fail. They had too little influence, the turmoil and war in the city too great to overcome. It had been a dream wrought with folly and whimsical hope.

“I am sorry, Mentors,” another man spoke up for the other two, who both seemed to be at a loss for words and ready to bolt. “We must try to save our families.”

Altaїr was solemn in accepting the men’s leave. “Do what you must. Save who you can.”

With not so much as one more word the three men bowed their heads and made a hasty exit. As soon as the door opened, the noise of the growing chaos in the streets was almost palpable. It stood ajar, the noise instilling fear into Malik’s chest. It took all of his mental training to keep calm and in his head.

“Come, Altaїr,” Malik urged. “I fear it is time for us to leave.”

As Altaїr had remained calm in the presence of the now departed apprentices, his demeanor was suddenly distraught. “We have to do something!”

Malik shook his head, though he too felt the pull to help the citizens. As much as he valued the lives of the innocent, he knew that his and Altaїr’s lives meant more to the Brotherhood. It was a sickening thought but no less true. “There is no use saving them, Altaїr. They have an entire army and we are but two. I fear our new Brothers are lost to us.” No matter how it pained Malik to say those words, he remained firm, logical. In these situations if you got caught up in the emotionality of it all, you too would get caught up in the calamity and inevitable bloodshed. It was easier, safer to be cold and logical. It was necessary.

Altaїr’s brow furrowed, his hands unconsciously dancing over his blades. Taking inventory, a nervous tick, or counting his assets. Malik was not sure which it was. “There must be something.”

Malik remained firm, strong in his conviction. If he had to be the one to take the blame for turning his back on innocent lives, so be it. “It would be no use. Even if we kill fifty men, fifty more will take their place and do the same work, only over the corpses of their kin. You have seen war; you know the course it takes and how it ends. We must leave the city.”

The shrieks outside the door grew louder, more frequent. Men and women alike were yelling, spreading news and simply releasing their terror. Altaїr stole a nervous glance to the shut door, every muscle concealed by his white robes tensed and ready to spring into action.

He needed to be snapped back into the reality of the situation. “Altaїr!”

“We can lead the people through the sewers. We can save some of them.” Altaїr’s mind was turning quickly, scraping for ideas. It was for naught.

It was upon Malik’s shoulders to turn the man towards reason. “If even one crusader follows us, then the secret passages will no longer be secret. When the time comes to retaliate they must have at least that one advantage.”

The decision was tearing Altaїr apart. Malik had rarely seen such an inner dispute in his partner but if anyone could read Altaїr’s subtle expressions, he could. His voice was strained, tight shoulders looking like they might slump in defeat at the slightest push. It pained Malik to see Altaїr in such a state. “In all of my years I have never been so helpless.”

“I have.” The words shocked Altaїr just as they tore at Malik’s chest. It was of his brother that he spoke, of the loss of his arm, of the betrayal of the man standing before him. He had been helpless before, but not so now. Malik put his hand upon his partner’s tense shoulder, a companionable and comforting gesture. He softened his voice, though remained firm in his conviction. “The city is lost, Altaїr. What Brotherhood we were able to make is gone. Maybe if our new friends survive they will pass on the Creed. That is the hope we have to hold on to. But for now we must leave before the road is blocked before us.”

Malik could see the reluctant agreement spread across Altaїr’s tight expression. “To the roofs then. The streets are no longer safe.”

With that they climbed the stairs to the rooftop balcony. Both of the Assassin’s gazes swept about the city. Billows of dust rose from collapsing towers that once stood vigilant at the waterfront. The crusader ships that had gathered there not too many days before were laying siege to the city, launching projectiles to try to break through the defensive wall. The chaos seemed so distant, but the thick black smoke that had just begun to rise from the city looked far too close for comfort.

“The city burns again.” It was a lament, his heart breaking for the many homes and lives that would inevitably be taken by the flames. There was a hand on his shoulder and both Assassins turned north away from the battle, swiftly making their way to the river ford. When they reached it, the raft was already flooding with people. They were frightened, shoving to get a space. The citizens who could afford to leave were fleeing the city. Some carried small satchels undoubtedly filled with worldly possessions, others carried screaming babes. It was a sorry sight, those people packed onto the almost over encumbered raft looking like terrified cattle being led to slaughter.

Malik looked at the mess, overwhelmed by the sheer number of people trying to disembark. “We must get out of the city.”

“The citizens have enough trouble on their hands. We at least can give them two more spots on the ferry.” Altaїr had apparently returned to logic.

“The river narrows north of here.” Malik had surveyed enough of the land for his maps to know that.

They traveled north for no more than an hour and came across another ferry, not nearly as crowded as the first, and paid the owner handsomely to take them across the river. On foot they marched east, vouching to obtain horses at the next town they came across. That evening they made camp atop a hill overlooking the sprawling city below. Black smoke on the horizon made the sunset deep red. Malik stood and looked upon the distant city in cold horror as it glowed with fire. Such a metropolis of culture was being burned yet again. It would take a long time for the city to recover, too long for Altaїr to hope to return and continue his mission to spread the Brotherhood. That knowledge fell heavily upon Malik’s conscience.

Quiet footsteps approached from behind him, a comforting hand fell to his shoulder. The gentle words that fell from Malik’s lips were almost poetic. “The city will fall to the crusaders in due time. I have seen the end of an era for this great city.”

The response he received was overwhelmingly tragic and yet hopeful. “The people will fall and rise again. That is the great strength of men.”

Malik felt a mirthless smirk come to his cheeks and he voiced the thought that came to mind. It was dark humor, so fitting for such a blood red sunset. “If the maps I drew of the city survive the fire they will be obsolete. I will have to redraw them if I ever return.”

Altaїr smirked. Malik did not have to see it on his face to hear it in his words. “Even if your maps do not survive, what we taught our new Brothers will.”

“If they themselves survive, you mean.” With that all trace of humor was gone.

Altaїr sighed, defeat in his every motion as he stepped away from the vantage point, Malik too turning away from the gruesome sight of Constantinople in flames. “We should rest. Masyaf is still more than two weeks away.”

As they lay down to sleep Altaїr pulled Malik close to his chest, holding him tight. The gesture was not lost upon Malik. It was as though he were saying ‘I may have lost the city but at least I did not lose you.’ It was a comfort. To return the sentiment Malik covered Altaїr’s encircling arm with his hand, settling against the man’s body. It was all the comfort the two men could give one another in the aftermath of their escape from the sacked city, but it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey sorry I didn't post a chapter last week. Visiting my parents and the holidays stole all of my writing time! Now that I'm back I should have regular updates.  
> A note on the history in this chapter: I did a fuck ton of research and most of it didn't end up in here. So I'll just say that the year is 1204 and Constantinople is in the height of the Fourth Crusade. All you really need to know is that shit went down many times, there were riots, and the crusaders eventually took the city.  
> Get ready for another major time jump in the next chapter!


	41. Steeling in Separation

“Why must you personally go to Mongolia? We have plenty of capable Brothers.”

“I have a suspicion that I am not the only one with an Apple or similar object of power.”

This new notion stopped Malik in his tracks for the briefest of moments, the two Assassins pacing slowly around the upper level of the library. Even while walking slowly, Malik could see that Altaїr’s stride was not as strong as it once was. The long years since the disaster of Constantinople he spent mostly at his desk, studying that mystical golden orb. The library sometimes glowed with its light, but never did Altaїr use its magic to control. He wrote endlessly in a thick tome, secrets that he rarely revealed to even Malik. When he was not studying the Apple or issuing orders to the Brotherhood, he was down in the training field mentoring the young Assassins. His own sons had grown into themselves, each with strengths that were admirable. Darim was particularly skilled at the bow while his younger brother Sef had mastered stealth.

“This is a huge endeavor, Altaїr. You cannot be thinking to leave the Brotherhood leaderless and go out on your own as you used to.” In the thirteen years Malik had been once again living in Masyaf, he had become somewhat of an advisor to the Mentor, among his other more private relations with the man. Together they had developed poisons that could be added to the hidden blade, had experimented with and taught new assassination techniques to their Brothers.

Malik was as much of a leader of the Brotherhood as Altaїr was, gaining respect among the Assassins in droves for his level-headed wisdom. He knew Altaїr’s response before the man even spoke.

“You will remain here and become the Mentor while I am gone. Darim will come with me and I am sure Maria will come as well.” Altaїr spoke gently, knowing the conflicting feelings behind his statement. Malik would get left behind and his wife would be at his side.

“Sef would be a powerful asset to bring as well,” Malik intoned, taking hold of his jealousy that never really went away and crushing it before it overcame him. Over the years he had come to terms with Maria and her private relationship with her husband. They had formed a friendship, but always there was a hint of tension that would never be relieved. It was the way things were and Malik did his best to live with it.

“Sef has his family to look after. He is more devoted to them than even I was to my own sons.”

Because you had me as well, Malik thought but did not voice. He would have felt guilty over that except he knew that if Altaїr could go back and do his live over, he would not have changed that for the world.

Still needing to enforce his concerns, Malik caught Altaїr’s elbow in his hand, drawing his slow step to a halt and turning the man to face him in one simple motion. “Altaїr,” he said gravely, lowly, “You are not as young as you once were and no less reckless. You must not let your nature lead you to a grave end.”

That crooked grin that Malik had come to both love and dread spread over his cheeks, sprinkled with salt and pepper scruff. There were lines in his skin, his age making itself known. “Are you afraid that without you there to reign me in I will lose my head and get killed?”

“The thought has crossed my mind more than once in our long years together, Brother.” Although Malik did not return the grin, his jest was reflected in his smiling eyes.

“And crossed your tongue as well many a time. I am certain if I ever fall under my own spell I will hear your voice in my ear.”

That time Malik did allow a small satisfied grin to cross his lips. The moment passed and the two Assassins began their slow pacing once more. “When will you depart?”

It was decided that a fortnight was enough time to prepare for such a long journey. The circle of scholars and Masters was informed of this endeavor and they argued endlessly about the nuances and politics that Altaїr would be faced with. Correspondence was made with the Assassin spy, Qulan Gal, who lived in Mongolia. He had been informing Altaїr of the movements of the invading Genghis Kahn. This warrior leader of the Mongols had been spreading his empire far in the east, halting any attempts to spread the Assassin Brotherhood.

Now that Altaїr had suspicions that there might be another otherworldly object in his possession, the Sword he said, he needed to go himself.

As the day of his departure drew near, Malik busied himself with making arrangements for his stepping into the Mentor’s shoes. There was a ceremony conducted, the whole of the Brothers in Masyaf gathered to witness Altaїr hand over the robes of the Mentor and place them about Malik’s shoulders. It was a big show, simply to cement the idea of Malik becoming their leader in Altaїr’s place, but he found himself reflecting upon his new position.

Never before had he imagined that he himself would be the Mentor of Masyaf, even for a short while. He had dreamed for so long in his youth of becoming a Master, like his father before him. That dream died when his brother had, when he lost his arm. He had wanted to prove himself to the Brotherhood, to rise up against his rival and be better than him in all ways. But as with all things, time and events change a person. He would become a true equal with Altaїr, both holding the highest title in all of the Brotherhood.

In this time Malik did not reflect upon what his father would think. The man had died when he was young. He found himself thinking upon Kadar for the first time in a decade or more. Kadar would be proud of him, of moving on from the corrosive competition with Altaїr and instead working together. Malik could almost imagine his young face beaming with pride.

Altaїr was making a grand speech to the crowd before them in the courtyard and Malik did not hear a word of it. Standing before the crowd, the robes of the Mentor of the Brotherhood about his shoulders, Malik felt sudden tears fill his eyes. It startled him and he quickly blinked them away, though not without those all-seeing eyes of Altaїr catching the briefest of glimpses. Not missing a beat, he continued with his speech, giving no indication that he had seen the emotion overcome Malik.

It was only when they were alone in the Mentor’s study that Altaїr graciously commented on it. “I hope you were not too overwhelmed today. Being the Mentor is a great responsibility and I know you will hold the title well.”

Malik leaned against the desk and let out a heavy sigh. “It was not that. I was thinking of Kadar.”

Hands came down to rest upon Malik’s shoulders, clad in the heavy and luxuriously embroidered Mentor robes. Altaїr’s response was painfully sincere. “He would have been proud.”

That brought a small, saddened smile to Malik’s lips, though he still could not bring himself to look into his partner’s eyes. “I know.”

\---

The night before his departure, Altaїr came to Malik’s home and found the new Mentor in a bitter mood. Malik was unsure just what was causing it. Was it the usual jealousy of Maria, the impending long wait until Altaїr’s return, worry for him, resentment towards his leaving, or the heavy responsibility placed upon his shoulders? Perhaps it was everything.

Altaїr seemed determined to have a positive last meeting with his partner of so many years before his leaving. Any advances he made, however, were thwarted by Malik continuing the already exhausted topic of the politics of the mission.

It was then that Altaїr changed the topic. “You can live in the Mentor’s tower while we are away.”

That caught Malik, stilling his pacing about the room while Altaїr sat upon the cushions. He let out a despairing sigh. He was so unsure of his feelings that feeling nothing was easier than expressing them. “I cannot.”

Altaїr was insistent. “You are the Mentor while I am gone. You should.”

Malik was just as stubborn, shaking his head as he spoke but not looking at his partner. “It belongs to you and Maria. I do not belong there.”

“It belongs to whoever is Mentor. You do belong there.”

Anger bloomed in Malik’s chest, immediately replaced with such deep melancholy that it caught him unaware. It burned in his chest, caught at his words. “I do not want to sleep in your bed without you in it.” It hurt to say, it pained him to seem so weak and feeble without Altaїr at his side.

He heard Altaїr sigh and the shuffle of his robes as he stood. Malik did not return the enveloping embrace but neither did he try to push his lover away. Altaїr’s reasoning was gentle. So many years caring for and loving his children had softened him. Whereas before he would have simply taken Malik to bed him to make him feel wanted, now he knew other ways to comfort. “Then keep it warm for me until I return.” He held on to Malik and made no move to release him. Eventually Malik gave in and brought his arm to pull Altaїr closer, putting conflicting feelings aside in return for that simple comforting embrace. They remained that way for a while, in deep profound silence. It was only after this long time that Altaїr spoke again, still not releasing Malik. “You have the respect of our brothers. You will lead them well, Malik. Can you do this?

Malik let a sad grin cross his cheeks, unseen by the other man, but it was clear in his chiding response. “Are you having doubts about my abilities?”

It was only then that Altaїr drew away, still holding onto Malik’s shoulders. His amber eyes were piercing, so sincere that it caught Malik’s breath in his throat. The man certainly had changed. “You know how much I care about the Brotherhood. I need to know that it will be strong without me.”

“I will lead our brothers in the glory that you created. I will look after Sef and his family.” The diplomatic response was all he could bring himself to say. He wanted to tell the man how much he would miss him, how painful it was that the inevitable time apart would grieve him. He had pushed Altaїr out of his life before and it almost killed him. This man, as much as Malik did not want to even admit it to himself, completed him, made him better. What he did not then understand was that the feeling was mutual.

“And what of yourself?”

Malik scoffed, shoving his thoughts away. “What about me?”

Here Altaїr paused, seeming to study Malik’s closed off expression before continuing tentatively. “You should think upon continuing on your family name.”

That struck Malik deeper than he had expected. Anger bloomed in his chest, followed by a wicked mirth and then sadness. Did Altaїr think so lowly of him? “You think I would betray you in any of the ways that you betrayed me?”

That question stopped Altaїr. Suddenly every acrimonious feeling that had ever come between them was brought to the surface. It all felt fresh, those graves they had seemed to have long forgotten about seemed fresh once more. Altaїr held Malik at arms distance, such profound hurt crossing the gaze between them. “Malik-”

It pained Malik so to push Altaїr away, but he did so, unwilling to look his lover in the eye. “Safety and peace upon your travels, Altaїr.” He turned his back on the man, willing him to leave but so wanting him to stay.

“I have only wanted the best for you, Malik.” Those words struck through Malik’s chest like an arrow. “I have made mistakes and I have spent my life trying to atone.”

“You have done a good job,” Malik replied, only half sarcastic. The other half was so truthful that it pulled at his chest.

“Malik, I-”

He did not want to hear it. He could not hear it. He needed the man to be close and he needed to punch the man bloody. So he compromised. As he spun, he put the momentum and all his muscle behind the blow, balling his fist and slamming it into Altaїr’s cheek. As he staggered back, caught unaware but tensing for a fight, Altaїr appeared to be trying to get a grip on what had just happened. Before he seemed to figure it out, Malik took a firm grip on the front of his robes and pulled him forward. Altaїr seemed willing to receive whatever punishment Malik had in mind. Malik could feel him flinch as if he were about to receive a blow when he crushed his lips against Altaїr’s. It was desperate, angry, and so impassioned that it hurt Malik’s chest. Perhaps that was the crushing embrace Altaїr pulled him into, responding to the kiss with passion tenfold.

It was the last night they would be together for however many years the mission would take. They both knew this and it heightened every emotion, every sensation. Clothes were ripped off by such impassioned and needy hands and soon the two Assassins found themselves roiling amongst the cushions spread on the floor, naked bodies needing nothing more than to be pressed against the other.

Preparing Malik was a well known and expertly practiced affair, the bottle of oil always in its spot for such an occasion. Altaїr thrust into Malik with such vigor that neither had experienced for years. Their passion had seemed to fall to the wayside in the wake of maintaining and spreading the Brotherhood. Now it was rekindled with new fervor. Sweat dripped off of their undulating bodies, caught in such intensity. The well-known embrace seemed to have a brand new flame and they rode through the pleasure with such relish. It was a moment to be relished, to be remembered.

When they reached their finishes, such a wave of ecstasy passed over them, lying in one another’s arms and shaking from the intense exertion. Kisses were placed over hot skin, the familiarity of one another’s body guiding them both to exactly the spots where each twisted and moaned. It was a good while of this before Malik felt the pull of responsibility at the back of his mind.

“You should be getting back to prepare.” He was reluctant to say the words, still so warm in Altaїr’s embrace.

When Malik tried to push away, Altaїr simply held him closer. “I am not leaving until the morning.”

“But Maria-”

Altaїr caught Malik’s lips with his own, stilling the words and the thought. “Tonight I am only yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I am getting close to the end. Like, two more chapters or something. Maybe three. Oh, I should mention that I am altering Malik's death a bit (whoops spoilers) than what happens in the game/the book. So if you are worried about me ripping your heart out and leaving you to bleed at the end of this fic, don't worry because I won't. The end will be bittersweet. I take care of my readers, so don't think that I'm one of those horrible deathfic writers. I'm not. Have faith in me.


	42. Coup in Concord

Seven long years passed. Malik did his duty, upheld his promise to the man he had pledged his everlasting allegiance to with dedication. He watched Sef raise his daughters, saw them grow into lovely young girls. His chest filled with pride every time he saw Sef. He saw all that was good in Altaїr reflected in him and perhaps even some of Malik’s own wisdom that he had taught to the man in his years of being his mentor. Sef still went on missions, mostly infiltration and intelligence collection, but he mostly stayed in Masyaf and looked after his family.

One evening Malik and Sef sat in the Mentor’s tower, playing at a game. It had taken Malik a year after Altaїr left to agree to move to the Mentor’s tower, and that was with much persuasion.

It was a struggle of a game, Malik having taught Sef so well that the young man had almost surpassed him in skill. It astonished Malik how his partner’s son had grown to be more of a friend to him than a mentee or even a colleague. He was smart, respectful and passionate in all things.

Malik was deep in thought, glancing over the game pieces strewn about the board. The thing about playing with one person so long was that your opponent began to know all your strategies. Sef was no amateur and it was both infuriating and a delight to share a game with him.

“Have you thought upon who you will marry?”

That question broke Malik from his concentration and he looked up to Sef. His chest gave a flip as it always did when the young man smirked in that way. It was like looking at Altaїr through the lens of time.

“Your strategy to distract me from the game is not a viable move,” Malik growled, though not with so much anger but a fond annoyance.

Sef shrugged. “It is both a tool of strategy and an honest question. The Brotherhood expects you to marry and have children.”

Malik sighed, forgetting the game for the moment. If this was all part of Sef’s strategy to win, so be it. “I am an old man, Sef. What young bride would want me to father her children?” He had just recently marked off his fifty ninth year.

The young man sitting across from him drew his brow together, seeming to try to figure Malik out by simply staring at him. It would never work, but he tried. Like his father, he had the gift of Eagle Vision, though he did not study it as relentlessly as his father had. “You are the Mentor while my father is away. That position is more than enough to get a bride.”

“Power should never be used in replacement for love.”

Sef was insistent. “This is a duty to your family name, Dai. Love has nothing to do with duty.” The old title slipped his tongue without him being aware of it. Malik caught it though. The young man had been calling him Dai since he was still a young child. Habits formed so young died slowly if at all. His father was Mentor, Malik would always be Dai. It was endearing if not inaccurate.

Malik sighed. That had been Altaїr’s excuse for fathering children by Maria. He had been told by the Apple to have children, or so he said. That obligation had turned into something far more, and now he had been gone with the mother of his two children for seven years. Gone with the woman he loved. Malik had been left behind, as if he were the one to not worthy to be by Altaїr’s side, even though they had been through far more, had been far closer for far longer. Malik knew that was a lie. Altaїr respected him and loved him enough to put the Brotherhood in his hands – something he loved far more than Maria or Malik.

Still he felt resentful. The letters he sent were a poor replacement for his warmth in Malik’s bed.

It was a long moment of silence before Malik responded. “Your father would say the same, but I do not believe it. You yourself married for love, did you not?”

Sef, always seeming to know the proper time to offer comforting support, reached over the game board between them ad placed a hand on Malik’s shoulder. “Then we will find you someone to love.”

Malik glanced away, hiding the sad look in eyes. It had taken him years to come to terms with what he felt towards Altaїr, and even longer to admit it to himself. He already had love. He knew Sef could see the sadness but graciously made no comment. They finished their game in silence.

It was more than a month before Sef brought up the topic once again. In this time Malik had thought deeply upon his place in the Brotherhood, upon the pressures of being the Mentor. It was expected for him to take a wife. If he had noticed these pressures before, he had subconsciously chosen to ignore them. Now they were at the forefront of every decision, every meeting with the scholars and Masters. Had Altaїr felt this same pressure? Perhaps that was why he left the Brotherhood for Cyprus for a year. Perhaps that was why he had married Maria, though now Malik knew that the woman meant far more to him than just a political union. Then another thought struck Malik. If Altaїr had disclosed these pressures to marry, would he have reacted as strongly as he had upon hearing of his marriage? Malik did not know the answer to that and probably never would. It was in the past, those hurts long ago negotiated and reconciled.

Sef approached him one evening, offering to take him in for dinner. Malik knew what was to come but graciously accepted. It was his duty.

The woman Sef introduced him to was a young widow, her late husband an Assassin who was killed before she could conceive a child. She was soft spoken but charming and Malik found himself becoming more at ease with her as the evening progressed. They met many more times over the course of three months. She was lovely and Malik grew to be friends with her. As they became closer Malik found the true reason why Sef had introduced them. She desperately wanted a child. It was then that they negotiated a marriage.

It was a contract of needs, not a declaration of desire and love. They both loved others and although they never explicitly said it to the other, they both knew. The marriage was arranged, a pleasant but not lavish affair. Neither Malik nor his betrothed could stand such a luxurious ceremony. It was a union wrought by broken hearts and a mutual need for status and a child. Though it sounded cold, Malik knew there was tenderness between them, even though love would and could never be.

On their wedding night, Malik did his duty as a husband. It was civil, friendly, and he treated her with all the gentle grace that she deserved. But there was no passion. There never would be passion and they both knew it, accepted it, and moved on.

When his wife became pregnant they finally reached a sort of harmony between them. It was the happiest they had been together. Malik cared for his pregnant wife as any devoted husband would. He looked on as his wife, after suffering for so long after her previous husband’s death, and saw joy in her eyes. It was enough for him. He had made her happy and she in return was giving him a child with his name. It was simply an exchange, but there was no lack of tenderness between them even so.

They lived in the Mentor’s tower, spent their nights in the bed that was still by all rights Altaїr’s. This gave Malik no small amount of uneasiness but he forced himself to accept it as it was. He was the Mentor, he had a wife who was pregnant with his child, and thus he was expected to live with her in his appropriate chambers. This union was received well by the Brotherhood, offered a sort of stability to the structure of Malik’s leadership. He could not help but think it was all a fraud, but when he felt his wife’s swelling belly, felt the kick of his child, all trepidation seemed to melt away. He was a father, a husband, and the Mentor. Everything he knew to be proud of.

But still there was an empty place in his chest. He found his thoughts wandering to Altaїr as he lay with his wife at night. He felt the betrayer, but in doing the betraying he was carrying on his family name, making a woman happy. His wife could see his struggle but said nothing of it, simply being a comforting presence to patch over the void in his chest.

In time, his wife gave birth to a son. They were overjoyed and bonded anew over him. Tazim they named him, for they both revered him and he was born out of their mutual respect.

Three months passed and Malik raised his son in harmony with his wife. He was as loving and devoted to his son as he had been to Altaїr’s own children all those years ago.

Malik was woken early one morning, a gentle stirring in his sleeping chamber pulling him from sleep. The first he noticed was that his wife was not beside him. Then he remembered that she had spent the night in the nursery with Tazim. Her footsteps were gentle but she had not been trained to step silently. The footsteps that had woken Malik were trained but sloppy. The slight scuff on the rug had woken him.

Giving in to his instincts, he reached for the knife he always kept at his bedside but found it not there. He looked to see who it was that had woken him and his gaze fell upon a man who had passed under his radar. He knew the man’s name but little else was known of him.

Swami was at his bedside, a hard look in his eyes. Unease had settled on Malik as soon as he woke and it redoubled at the troubling look of the lower ranked Assassin.

“What is it? News from Altaїr?” Malik sat up, his body stiff from his long sleep. He certainly was feeling his sixty years and it seemed to harden his joints more and more with each day. He hid this from the man standing before him. Keep potential weaknesses unknown to threats.

“You will come with me.” The bald man insisted, face set.

Malik had grown accustomed to a certain amount of respect for his position and the man standing at his bedside was holding none of those airs. Slightly indignant at this poor treatment, Malik was firm in his order, never taking his eyes off of the other Assassin. “You will tell me the news.”

“Sef has been murdered.”

Malik felt his stomach drop to the floor. Murdered? Disbelieving, he asked, “What did you say?”

Now Malik could see one more Brother standing at his door, blocking the exit, his face set gravely. He looked about the room and seemed to see something.

The Brother at the door dropped his grave expression in return for one of horror. “That… what is that?” He sounded shaken.

Swami walked over to Malik’s private study table, all business and with an air of superiority, and picked something up. When he turned a great trepidation overcame Malik. It was the blade he had been reaching for, but… “Did not even bother cleaning it off, _Mentor_?” Swami spat the word, brandishing the blade, darkened with drying, sticky blood.

Malik was instantly out of bed, thoughts of stiff muscles and joints long forgotten. “What is going on? Is Sef really dead?” He was demanding in this, trying to keep his racing heart undetectable by the other two Assassins.

Swami gripped the hilt of the knife, a sinister look on his face, almost victorious. “Did you not bother to check after you stabbed him?”

Heart racing and mind turning even faster, Malik responded as diplomatically as he could. “That is my blade but it was not me who did this, if it really is true.” God, don’t let it be true.

The Brother from the doorway spoke, sounding as though his whole world was a lie and he was just now figuring out the truth. His eyes were wide, haunted. “His wife is not here to confirm that he never left.”

“No, she spent the night with our son.” Not good, not good.

Swami was overcome with a snarling grin. “No alibi then. Al-Sayf, come with us. All evidence points to your treachery.”

Malik’s temper overflowed, fear and disbelief feeding the fire. “How dare you accuse me of killing Altaїr’s son! I think of him as my own!” He raised his voice, the anger making him shake.

Swami sneered back. “Who knows why you did it. All we know is that it is done and your sword is red with an innocent’s blood.”

“You can’t set me up like this! No one will believe your slander and lies.” He was the Mentor, he had the respect of the whole Brotherhood. Or so he had thought. His whole world was crashing down around him. Sef? Gentle, masterfully intelligent, strong, kind Sef… had been murdered? Or was this all a sick ploy?

“They will believe me when I say that you put up a fight and killed again to try to get away.” At Swami’s threatening words, Malik’s heart dropped to the floor.

All he could muster was a whispered, “What?”

Before he could stop the man, Swami turned and swept the already bloodied blade up the front of the Assassin behind him, a spray of blood from his throat spattering the rug at Swami’s feet.

“Stop!” Malik roared and was upon him instantly, tearing the blade from the murder’s hand. Forgetting his weakening body, he swept a leg around to knock the murderer to the floor. The bastard did not even try to catch himself.

“Murderer!” Swami shrieked, Malik suddenly realizing his predicament. There was a dead Assassin bleeding at his door, another cowering before him, and a bloodied blade in his hands. It was a perfect set up. Now all that was needed was- “Brothers! Our Mentor has murdered again!”

Feet pounded up the stone steps to his door. Witnesses. They were upon him instantly, not even giving him enough time to drop the blade before it was wrenched out of his grip. He did not struggle as three men pinned him to the ground.

It was then that Malik looked up to see who he knew was the mastermind behind the ordeal. Abbas stepped into the room, a look of pure slimy victory about him. “So your resentment for your so-called _friend_ finally caught up with you, Al-Sayf?”

Malik growled, face pressed to the floor by strong, trained hands. “Abbas. I should have known.”

Abbas barked out a laugh. “Should have known that you would get caught? Brothers, take him to the dungeon. He has killed two of our own, one our own Mentor’s son.”

Malik was hauled up roughly, hand caught tightly in a painful hold, wrenched up his back. There was no winning this. To try to get away would mean his death, or the death of all those who held him. To try to break away meant him admitting guilt. He looked at their grave faces, recognizing them from the training field. Two of them he himself had given the white robes of a full Brother. To not struggle was to admit guilt and to try to escape meant guilt and death. There was no winning. Abbas had planned this Coup d'état elegantly and perfectly. There was no escaping it.

The men holding him were grave, so there must be some truth behind Swami’s words. Cover up a lie by sprinkling in some truth. Sef was dead. That thought still had not sunk in. Sef, the little boy who had admired him so, who Malik himself had taught stealth and strategy to, who was a friendly companion in the long years since Altaїr left… was dead? He had raised him just as much as his father had, being teacher, family figure and friend to him for those long, full thirteen years. He had a wife and two daughters not yet fully grown. What was worse was the manner of his death. Killed in the night, in his own home Malik guessed, in the city where he was supposed to be safe. He was not killed in combat as many Assassins met their end, but in his sleep. A cowardly murder.

The spark of Abbas’s long awaited coup d'état. Simply a tool to obtain power.

It was not the end Malik expected. It was all wrong. And he was the one accused of it.

He was tossed bodily into the furthest cell, no windows this far down in the pit of the dungeon. There was a single blanket, stinking of feces and death. Perhaps this cell’s previous occupant had died and rotted while bundled in it, trying to get as much comfort out of the threadbare cloth as it could give.

The youngest of the Assassins spat at his feet and closed the iron gate with a deafening clang. No doubt this was the beginning of Malik’s fall from grace in the eyes of the Brothers he cared so deeply for. His wrongful fall from grace.

As the group walked away, one Brother spoke up softly, but the dungeon echoed so much that Malik could clearly hear his words.

“I still don’t believe it.”

Malik pressed his face to the bars, trying to see who it was that spoke. With their backs turned and hoods up, it was impossible to tell who was speaking. Regardless of who it was that spoke, the words still cut Malik deep. “Choose what you want to believe but there is only one truth. He is a murderer.” These men were supposed to respect him. He had done nothing but earn that trust by carrying on the Brotherhood in the glory that Altaїr created. And yet here he was.

Everything was wrong. Sef was dead, the Brotherhood was without his leadership, and Malik could do nothing.

It was not until long after the footsteps fell silent and he was left alone in the dark, damp and cold dungeon that Malik finally wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo time jumps galore!   
> So yeah I'm thinking two more chapters should finish this up. Er... maybe three. Oh hey, thanks for sticking around, dear readers. If you have made it this far without getting scared off, I am so proud of you! We are in the final stretch now, so let's struggle through it together.


	43. Illness in Imprisonment

The cough that rumbled from his chest was ragged, seeming to tear at his very flesh. His ribs ached with the force. It must have been months ago that his coughing fits had begun, but once they had started it was hard to tell just when that had been. Had it been before or after he told his wife to take Tazim to Jerusalem? Before or after he got word that Sef’s family had left? It certainly must have been after Abbas ordered his interrogations. Those had been - still were - a nightmare to endure. After all that time, Malik had hoped that he would get used to them. As the weeks passed, or so Malik assumed as he was trapped in the deepest part of the dungeon, the interrogations only seemed to get worse.

Abbas was desperate. After one fateful touch of the Apple, he was obsessed with holding it again. He had grown convinced that the Apple was all that had made Altaїr’s rise to power possible. So he had turned to Malik, asking the former Mentor where it was. Was it hidden? Was it somewhere in Masyaf? Did Altaїr have it with him? Where was Altaїr? _Where was he_?

The icy water his head was submerged in would force its way into his lungs, burning the already scarred, tender flesh. He would be reduced to coughing and vomiting water when his head was pulled free, unable to answer the crazed questions even if he wanted to.

Malik had struggled at first, tried to break out of his captor’s steel grip as he was forced from his cell to the interrogation room. Torture chamber, more like. He had been beaten at first, left bruised and bloody. When that had not worked, they had turned to more instrumental torture, slowly pushing spiked metal rods under his fingernails, pulling at his arm until it was almost dislocated. When those methods did not bring results, they had turned to forcing his head underwater until he almost drowned. They had tried starving him until he wept for food, tried taking away the rag that he used for a blanket in his cell. They tried withholding information from him, and then the complete reverse, telling him exactly who they had executed that week and how they had died. He sat quietly, making no indication that he heard, as the names of all those loyal to him and Altaїr were listed. They told him that they were looking for his wife and son and that their demise was quickly approaching. Worst of all were the days, the weeks, that he was kept in silence and isolation. It was so stifling, so inhuman. He felt a caged animal, alone in the dark with not even the sound of the wind to keep him company. He would scream just to hear the echoes, to imagine that they were cries from other prisoners just as miserable as he was just down the hall.

Still Malik refused to break.

He thought about it every day. What would come of it? What would happen if he told them the truth? Altaїr never let the Apple out of his sight. Altaїr was somewhere in Mongolia, though Malik knew not exactly where. It had been years since his last message.

The pain would go away. His lungs would finally clear; the disease he knew clung to them would abate. His fingernails, what were left of them, would grow back. His ribs would heal, his emaciated legs would strengthen.

There was some hope left in his heart, even in those dark times. Naji would protect his wife and child in Jerusalem. Abbas still did not know where Altaїr was. But beyond that flicker of hope of something beyond this prison, Malik knew that Abbas would never let him live. His influence was still too strong. He knew too much. As the months passed, he despaired ever seeing the sun again. Despaired ever watching his son grow into a fine young man. But most of all, he despaired ever setting eyes upon the man he cared for most, for whom he remained silent despite the torture and agony.

As time went by, that small sliver of hope slowly dwindled. Numbness replaced his burning hatred for Abbas, replaced the fervent need to survive.

In the long hours of silence, Malik tried to think back on his past with Altaїr, trying to relive the beautiful moments they had shared. He felt nothing. He thought upon his brother, tried to feel that tearing guilt and sorrow that had plagued him for so long. He felt nothing. He tried to think of his loyalty to the Brotherhood, to the men who looked up to him. He felt nothing.

He was a shell, just a shadow. He might as well be a skeleton, rotting away in his black cell.

There was one thought that kept him alive. One sliver of light still left in his cold, aching chest.

Altaїr would return.

He would return, take back the Brotherhood and Malik would be free again. Freedom. What did that even mean anymore? He had always been a slave to the Brotherhood, to his own ambition. He had trained endlessly for years for nothing so much as a nod from Al Mualim. He had killed men who opposed the Brotherhood without a second thought. He was a machine, only thinking of becoming better, better than he could be, better than the man he so secretly wanted to be. He was a slave to his jealousy, a slave to his lust.

Nothing he had done was of his own volition. As an Assassin he was a slave to the Creed. As a Dai he was a slave to his duties for the Brotherhood. As Mentor he was a slave to uphold that which Altaїr had built. And now he was a slave to be tortured. In his darkest moment, he turned away from the Creed. His blade had killed an innocent. It had not been by his hand, but he had been too blind to notice Abbas’s plan. He had might as well pushed the steel through Sef’s chest himself. In not noticing the conspiracy forming under his nose he had compromised the Brotherhood. By not hiding in plain sight he had allowed Abbas to see through him, to plot behind his back.

What was the use of serving the light when the dark behind your back was what needed saving?

Nothing was true. Every truth he had told was turned to lies by Abbas.

Everything was permitted. His coup was simply the next step forward for the Brotherhood, regardless of the blood spilled to achieve it.

He despised his life, despised the way he had grown up. If not for the Brotherhood, his father and brother would still be alive. He would still have his arm. He would not be trapped in this hellish prison. He would have had a life.

What did that mean, to have a life? He was robbed of even that notion, that there was something other than the Brotherhood to live for.

So Malik lost hope. He lost everything that he believed in, letting it dissolve into the cold stone floor, eaten by the omnipresent darkness. The sickness clung to his chest and he let it. That was all he was: a sick old man in the darkness, unable to even draw comfort from his own embrace. The Brotherhood had robbed him of that as well.

_Altaїr would return_.

As the months passed, even that thought grew into a distant fantasy. He grew numb, the torturers unable to even illicit a cry from his lips. Eventually they gave up and simply left him alone in his cell, only bringing him enough food to keep him alive.

Time was lost upon Malik. No light penetrated this deep into the fortress, the seasons making little difference to the chilly atmosphere. It could have been months or years and Malik had no way of telling. He slept when he was tired and even when he was awake he kept his eyes shut against the darkness. Somehow it felt like he was in control of the darkness when he thought it was only his eyes shutting out the light, not tons of rock and stone above his head. The dungeon that he called home was always damp, always stinking of death and human waste.

He sang to himself sometimes, his hoarse voice interrupted intermittently by ragged coughs that shook his whole frame. Songs of his childhood, songs that he used to sing to Kadar to help him sleep after their father was killed in some far off country.

He did not weep. He felt nothing. It had been easier to feel nothing when he was being tortured. It had been easier to remain silent and numb to stop himself from compromising all that he loved in the world. Even with no hope he had remained loyal. But what for? He was going to die anyway, rotting alone in this cell. He would die for the loyalty he had to all those who remained in the world and none of them would ever know. His name would forever be marked as one of a traitor. The traitor Mentor who had killed the real Mentor’s son in an attempt to… to what? To gain power? It was a foolish thought, but that was what people would remember. The truth did not matter if only lies were written in the tomes of history.

_Altaїr would return_.

He would seek the truth, but Malik knew it would be too late. The corruption in the Brotherhood was too deep, the sickness in Malik’s lungs too far gone. If the man had any sense at all, he would take his wife and remaining son and forget about the Brotherhood. He should let it rot and collapse upon itself with Abbas at the epicenter. After all, what had the Brotherhood done but cause them pain?

Peace. It was a petty notion. Petty and false. For one to be at peace, another had to pay the price. Malik had been paying his whole life, to serve the light. What had come of it? Nothing. All that he had worked towards had been swept out from underneath him by a crazed man who had put a dagger in Sef’s chest. Such a simple act could undo a lifetime of work.

It was meaningless.

His life was meaningless.

So Malik lay in his cell, a shell of the great man he once thought he was.

\---

Malik stirred on the thin rag he called a bed, unsure what had drawn him from his sleep. Footsteps? A change of guard? He dared not open his eyes. It was nothing. The guard was bringing him a meal. It would still be there the next he woke, so he allowed himself to drift back to rest. Maybe this time he should just leave it be. This time he would let the hunger consume him, let it eat away at his already starved body. Nothing mattered anymore. He could just simply stop. Take that one last step towards freedom, take control one last time.

The iron door creaked open, but there was no clatter of a food dish hitting the floor. This was it, then. They would take him away and put him down like a mad dog. There was no fight left in him; he would simply allow his death to come.

For a moment he thought he felt something on his shoulder. Not the wrenching grab of a guard as he had expected, but something gentler. No, it was a dream.

_Altaїr would never return_.

There was a voice, so soft that Malik could barely hear it over the raging silence in his head. Something brought him out of his dreary lull and he forced his eyes to open. He was met with the bright light of a torch, flickering in the hand of a man crouched by his side. No, it was not him. It was simply one of Abbas’ tricks.

_Altaїr would never return_.

“Can you walk, my friend?” The voice sounded shaken, disbelieving, but so caring that for the first time in more than a year, Malik felt something other than lung sickness stir in his chest. Surely this was just another vision. But the pain behind his eyes at the bright light brought his attention forward. The man’s face was stricken, pale, horrified at what he saw. He looked older, the scruff of his beard flecked with white and gray, lines of worry and intense concentration etched into his brow and cheeks. But those amber eyes had not changed. They were still as bright as ever, as deep and all-seeing as an eagle.

For the first time in more than a year, Malik began to hope. It was a sliver, but it grew with each passing second that he looked upon the man he knew he had loved for most of his life.

“For you, I can walk.”

Without another word, Altaїr wrapped a strong hand about Malik’s bony wrist, gently pulling him upright. Perhaps he was too astonished to speak. Perhaps he was too furious, believing that it indeed was Malik who had killed his son. As Malik tried to stand, it was immediately apparent that he had severely misjudged the waning strength he had. Even so, Altaїr seemed to carry his weight without any sign of burden, pulling Malik’s arm about his shoulders. He was suddenly reminded of their first mission together, of how Altaїr had carried him in just this way after Malik had almost been strangled to death by the massive Templar. It was a silly thought to remember just then. Back then they had only been rivals. Now… Malik was unsure what they were.

Malik looked down at his useless legs, trying to make them carry weight. A wave of guilt washed over him, the man holding him burdened by everything Malik’s incompetence had wrought.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked as they slowly made their way through the dark prison, the single torch Altaїr carried the only light. “I’m so-” A wave of coughs overcame him, shaking his whole frame. Altaїr stopped his advancement, seeming to wait for the fit to pass. Malik was so weak. He had been broken. Certainly this was just Altaїr taking him to the execution platform that had been described in such detail by Abbas.

Altaїr made no comment, simply continuing on once Malik had gained control over his breathing. It seemed like an eternity before they reached the entrance to the dungeon. Altaїr dropped the torch and pushed the heavy wooden door open. Daylight seared at Malik’s eyes and he almost cried out for the pain. Now without the additional burden of the torch, Altaїr got a more secure grip on Malik, his right arm about his waist and his left keeping Malik’s arm about his shoulders. It was surreal, to have someone touching him without the intent of hurting him; to have human contact after being in isolation for so long. Part of Malik wanted to believe this was all an elaborate delusion.

_Altaїr had returned_.

He was brought out of the bowels of the fortress, to the courtyard. It barely registered that the fortress was in such disrepair that it looked as though it had been abandoned. Tattered banners bearing the Assassin symbol fluttered in the light breeze, no guards stood at their posts. The racks of training weapons had been removed, the sparring circle overgrown with weeds and grass.

Even the town looked to be deserted. The once bustling market was in shambles, only a handful of merchants selling food and wares stood behind their stalls. Even the buildings had fallen into disarray. Doors had peeling paint; the streets had holes and weeds.

This was what Malik’s lack of leadership had wrought. If he had been stronger, a better Mentor like Altaїr was, this never would have happened. If Malik had any more tears to shed, he would have let them fall. This was what his failure brought. It was all upon his shoulders. He was to blame. Altaїr should have left him in that dungeon to rot; it was only what he deserved.

Instead, Altaїr carried him to a familiar door, stepped over the threshold into a familiar room, the familiar scent filling Malik’s nose. After so long of only smelling damp stone walls and his own urine, it struck him harsher than the light of day had. He wanted to weep but he had no strength to.

Then he looked around and saw Maria. She stood, sudden horror struck across her travel-hardened features. There was the deepest sorrow there as well. Of course, Malik thought, she has just found out about her son’s death. Malik knew the feeling of loss all too well. He expected there to be a twist of betrayal to her brow, but when he really studied her face, he saw no trace. She had not believed Abbas’ lies.

She made no sound, uttered no words. Maria had no need for them. She simply crossed the short distance and wrapped her arms about Malik’s almost skeletal form. She did not cry, simply held on to him with such strength that Malik felt as though she might crush him.

“I’m sorry,” Malik repeated. There were no other words he could find. Nothing would be sufficient enough to comfort such loss, nothing would be able to repair what damage he had wrought.

Eventually he was released, but she remained close. “Never mind, you are safe now.” She was holding something back, perhaps anger, perhaps tears. It did not matter. Nothing quite mattered anymore to Malik. He was brought to his old bedroom, laid gently down on the mattress. Maria put a mug of water to his lips and he drank slowly, weary from exerting himself so. He thanked her gently, repressing the need to go into another fit of coughing.

“What happened to Sef?” Altaїr’s hard question filled the room, seemed to press down on Malik’s chest. The guilt was tremendous. He could not bring himself to look upon Altaїr, who stood just at his bedside as Maria sat at the edge of it.

“Murdered,” Malik croaked. He cleared his throat, continued. “Two years ago, Abbas staged his coup. He had Sef killed, then placed the murder weapon in my room.” He continued, explaining how the circumstances he found himself in only reinforced the idea of his guilt. Malik looked on as Altaїr and his wife exchanged pained looks, a small touch of comfort was shared between them. Malik felt the guilt fall upon him once more. “I’m sorry. There was nothing I could do to send a message while in prison. Besides, Abbas controlled all communications in and out of the fortress. No doubt he has been busy changing other ordinances during my imprisonment, for his own benefit.” His voice felt weak. It cracked and wore at his raw throat. Maria brought the mug of water to his lips again and he was grateful for that.

Altaїr looked away, crossing his arms across his chest. Defensive. “He has. It seems he has supporters on the council.”

The pain was beginning to return to his chest and Malik mourned the numbness. “I’m sorry, Altaїr. I should have anticipated Abbas’ plans. For years after your departure, he worked to undermine me. I had no idea he had managed to command such support. It would not have happened to a stronger leader. It would not have happened to you.” And that statement was so raw, so truthful that Malik could no longer bear to look upon his partner. He had failed him and that failure had brought so much devastation.

Altaїr’s reply was strained, guarded. “Don’t trouble yourself. Rest, my friend.” He made a small motion for Maria to follow him and he turned to leave.

“Altaїr-” Malik croaked to his partner, a desperate plea. He made to reach for him, but his arm was weak.

Immediately Altaїr was crouching at his side, as if that plea was all he needed to break his reserve. His rough hands cradled Malik’s bony one. He remained silent, tight lipped.

Malik dug into himself, trying to find the courage to speak his mind. He found nothing but emptiness, so he simply spoke. “I know you may not believe my words, but I had nothing to do with Sef’s death. There was nothing I could have done to stop what Abbas did. I looked after Sef and loved him as if he were my own son in your absence. His family is safe, his wife and daughters. They departed for Arsuf soon after Sef was- was-” It was too much. Malik lapsed into a fit of dry coughs, the force of them seeming to crush his ribs.

Then suddenly there was another pressure about him. As Malik’s coughing stilled he found himself enveloped in Altaїr’s arms, the embrace gentle but firm. Altaїr’s reply was much the same. “I will meet with Abbas, but I will not trust his words. In all of our years, if I learned anything it was to trust in you.”

After a long moment, cherishing the warmth of the embrace, Malik held his lover at arm’s length, staring deeply into those amber eyes. He thought upon telling the man just how much he had missed him, how he had thought of him every day since his departure. He wanted to tell him how sorely sorry he was about his son’s demise while he was under Malik’s care. Then suddenly he realized that he did not need to say these things. They were already known to the man, through the way he clenched the man’s cowl, through his gaze that had long been spent of tears.

As if in response to this communication, Altaїr pulled Malik close, their lips meeting perfectly together as if made for each other. It was a brief exchange, though no less passionate because of it.

Malik felt so filthy, a betrayer to the man he knew trusted him. He pulled away, though Altaїr tried to follow, to continue the embrace. Knowing that Altaїr had far more pressing matters to attend to, he pushed his partner back. Altaїr complied that time, though still remained close. “Maria is waiting,” Malik reminded him. Waiting to confront the man who murdered your son, who locked your partner away for two years, who destroyed your beloved Brotherhood.

“I will return for you when my business is done.”

“Altaїr…” Malik halted, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. There were so many things that he needed to say, wanted to tell the man. They all melted away in that instant. “Abbas is strong. You must be stronger.”

Altaїr’s amber eyes grew stony. He drew away from Malik and stood, shoulders drawn back, fists clenched. “I am always strong.” Malik did not doubt that statement for a moment. He would have, long ago. Now nothing else mattered. Altaїr was strong.

“Safety and peace.” It was almost a whisper, Malik’s voice spent.

Altaїr nodded at that and made a swift exit. Malik could hear him and Maria conversing softly in the other room, though he could not pick out the words they said. Two pairs of footsteps followed, and a door shutting behind them.

Once more, Malik was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, next chapter is where I will deviate from the canon. Malik will not get that shitty ass ending, don't you worry.
> 
> Oh and I took a bit of the dialogue from the novel for some of this chapter.


	44. Peace in Parting

Sleep must have overcome him, for the next he knew he was startled awake by the faintest creak of a door opening. It was not the sound that the front door that he knew so well made when the one entering was announcing his presence. Altaїr knew better than to be silent in his approach. It was the sound the door made when someone tried to silence it. Malik had lived for years in that small house and had been familiar with it for years before that when it had been Altaїr’s. He knew the sounds it made.

Malik willed himself to come to full wakefulness. It was much harder than it used to be, but he found his sluggish thoughts becoming crisp again. There was someone in his house, trying and failing to sneak in. No doubt they were there for Malik’s life. Surely by now Abbas would have been informed of his escape. Malik knew too much to stay alive. He meant too much to Altaїr. A wave of exhaustion passed over him then. Perhaps he should just give in. He had been through enough, had endured imprisonment, torture and isolation… for what? For one man? No, it had not just been for Altaїr. He had endured for the Brotherhood, for the Creed. He may have lost faith in the tenants of the Brotherhood but still he had remained true to Altaїr. He had deserved that much. Now that he was back, he would take back the Brotherhood. Altaїr would set things right. He did not need an old, tired cripple hindering his return to glory.

It would be so easy to go back to sleep. The need tugged at the back of his eyes. The pain in his chest would stop, he would be reunited with Kadar. Finally Malik could be at peace.

No.

For all his life he had been in unrest. Simply giving up now would make his struggle worth nothing. If he could not live for himself, he knew that he had to live for Altaїr. He owed his lover that much and more.

So there it was. He would continue his struggle.

He slipped his hand in the space between the wall and the mattress, finding the dagger that was always stashed there. If he were to die here, he would die with a blade in his hand and with loyalty in his breast.

Dagger clutched in his weak fist and out of sight, he rested his eyes and kept his senses wide open. If Malik were to survive, he had to gain whatever upper hand he could get. All he had was a hidden dagger and the element of surprise. Malik hoped it would be enough.

A soft scuff of a boot on the carpet was his only warning.

Altaїr had returned. Malik would fight.

The traitorous Assassin did not even have enough time to utter a sound before Malik’s blade cut his throat with savage slices. Malik paid the spurting blood no heed, did not even watch as the man crumpled to the floor. His face was not familiar. Troubling.

The man who stepped into the room next was all too familiar to Malik’s eye.

Swami drew his sword, eyes wide with disbelief at what he saw. “How are you…”

Mustering up strength in his voice and propping himself up from where he lay, Malik channeled all the defiance that had festered and kept him alive in the dungeon for two years. Swami had killed Sef. Swami had been one of the men who interrogated Malik and had suggested torture to get him to talk. There was no brotherhood between them, only defiance. They each followed different Mentors, two different interpretations of the Creed. “You forget that I was once the highest rank Assassin in the Brotherhood, besides our Mentor. Do you think a few short years in prison have deprived me of all skill?” His grip was weak on the dagger, but he twirled it with a practiced air. Two years had not been enough time to deprive him of all ability, though it had left him with no stamina. Being in that cell had taken a toll on him, and he was still so weak from his imprisonment. Malik dared not reveal his fatigue, relying on intimidation, his words his only weapon now.

Malik continued, mouth contorted into a stern line of contempt. “Abbas has been using you. Whatever he has promised you is a lie.”

Swami sneered. “I will kill you myself.” He lifted his blade, advancing one step.

Malik’s words stopped him in his tracks, tone dark. “You will try, and you will die by my blade.” There was a raw truth behind that statement and Swami wisely took back that step he had taken. Malik continued. “You will take this man’s head and say it is my own. Bloody the face, cut the hair- do whatever you must to make it unrecognizable. Do this and you will live, for if you do not you will either die by the hand of Abbas, or by mine. Chances are you will die either way, but this is your best hope.” Malik could feel the pull of a fit of coughing but he stubbornly suppressed it. He needed to show no weakness. If he did, his threats would fall flat and Swami would see past his façade of confidence and strength.

Defiant but now on edge, Swami brandished his blade. His stance was not as confident as it had been. “You are not my superior. I will not take orders from-”

Malik did not allow the traitor to finish his thought. “You will if you have but a drop of sense in you. Take this man’s head as my own, present it to Abbas, and you may be spared.” By Abbas, perhaps, Malik thought. Altaїr would find no mercy in his heart for him. That thought sent a spike of remorse in his chest, but he could not dwell on his lover’s pain upon seeing the disembodied head that was supposedly his. He was going to survive for him. That was all that mattered. Malik concealed his triumph at seeing Swami’s hesitation. Pushing the man further, Malik commanded him with a warning. “Go, before I forget to stay my blade.”

Swami was defeated. It was a struggle to remain upright as Malik looked on as the traitor dragged the slain Assassin away. All the weight of the world appeared to fall upon his shoulders. He had spent the last of his precious energy and he was close to collapsing. In fact, he could not resist it when he heard the door shut behind Swami.

Again his body bid him to sleep, to just take a short nap. Malik knew that if he did, he would wake again to find himself outside of his body, a clean cut at his throat. He needed to get out before the ruse was found out. The decision had been made as soon as he had clutched the dagger. He would press on, he would continue to live. He owed Altaїr enough to give him that much.

Pushing himself out of the bed was an ordeal, his weakened arm barely able to support him. He stood slowly on weak legs not used in months. He felt even older than he was, an old, feeble man. He had to lean on the wall for support, stepping out of the bedroom with agonizingly slow steps. He felt the cough in his chest bursting to escape, but he did not give in to it. He did not have the time for a fit of coughing.

It seemed to take so long for him to make his way to the main room. He needed to gather what supplies he could. By the door, Malik found a worn saddlebag full to burst with not yet unpacked supplies. Altaїr must have been waiting to unpack his bag until after he had reclaimed the Mentor’s tower. As it was, Malik had no time to see what was within. He grabbed it, slinging the worn leather satchel over his shoulder. He glanced about, unsure if he should say goodbye to the house where so much had transpired between him and Altaїr. His eyes fell to a heap of cloth. Without thinking, Malik stooped and picked the garment up. Altaїr’s journey cloak. It had been new when he had left, but now it was crusted with travel dirt and had heavy wear about the hem.

It seemed that the cloak’s journey would have another leg. Malik wrapped the worn and heavy cloth about himself, pulling the deep hood well over his head. He was struck by the scent of it. After so long of only smelling his own stink, the sensation was overwhelming. It smelled of horses, of damp, of dirt, but mostly of the man.

With nothing left to pack and nothing left to lose, Malik stepped into the street. He kept to the shadows as best he could, needing to continuously lean on the outside walls for support. He needed to get out, needed to not see anyone. Anyone could be a spy for Abbas. Malik had lost all contact with his own supporters while imprisoned. For his own safety and the safety of his family, no one could know that he lived. Abbas would certainly seek him out if he thought him still alive; use his family against him to draw him out.

If he were caught, he would be used against Altaїr. Malik needed to disappear until Altaїr had successfully taken Masyaf out of Abbas’s hands. However long that took, Malik would stay away. Altaїr had Maria and Darim. He would survive without Malik. He would have to if he believed Swami’s display. Altaїr would need no distractions, no old crippled man hindering and compromising his retaking the Brotherhood. It pained Malik to make the decision to pull himself out of Altaїr’s life, but it was necessary.

He walked slowly, his legs straining with the weight of the cloak about his shoulders. Malik kept the still bloodied blade and held it at his side out of sight. If he were recognized, he would need to use it, whether they be friend or foe. No one could know that he lived. For the sake of Altaїr, for the sake of Malik’s wife and child, he had to disappear.

Malik was in sight of the south gates of Masyaf when a commotion behind him bloomed. He stepped into the shadow of a building and looked towards the noise. Assassins were running towards the fortress, blades drawn. Malik strained his eyes and saw a single figure breaking through the throng of white robed men. Too weak to stand, Malik was forced to sink to the dusty ground. He looked on helplessly as Altaїr pried his way through the men, not seeming to care that blades pierced through his clothing, reddening his white robes as he ran. When he reached the village, he was limping, holding one arm with the other. Malik caught a glance of his face as he came close.

It was the face of a man who had seen a thousand lifetimes of woe in the span of a day. Malik thought to reach out to him, but his arm would not move. He thought to chase after him, but he was too weak to stand. His voice was a croak when he called out to him, lost in the din of shouts.

He was useless. He could not even comfort his lover, too weak to go to him. Malik looked on helplessly as Altaїr was stopped by the closed gate. He scaled the wall, not as agile as he once had been, and disappeared over the top. The uproar of activity seemed to die down instantly, giving way to excited whispers about what had just transpired.

Malik overheard two men talking, walking past on the street and not seeing him as he sat in the shadow of a building. Their words made Malik’s heart dropped like a stone into a deep lake. Maria was dead.

Altaїr had lost a son and both of his lovers in the span of two days. On top of that he had lost the Brotherhood.

Malik waited for the gate to open and he eventually mustered up the energy to stand, exit the gates of the city he had called home for all of his sixty years, and clamber onto a horse. He made the decision right then and there that he would seek out the one man who he had always sought, for better or for worse. If they were together, they might be able to take back the Brotherhood. If they were together, Altaїr would no longer have to grieve him.

So Malik rode until he could go no further. He came across a small town as dusk overcame the sky. He stopped to water his horse and get a drink for himself. In the outskirts of the town, Malik set up a meager camp. He dug through the travel bag and found enough coin to last him a good while, along with other travel essentials. Altaїr really did know how to pack light and efficiently. A small amused grin pulled at Malik’s cheeks. The feeling was so unfamiliar and the muscles so unused that it became more of a grimace.

As much as Malik had tried to stave off the swarming thoughts of Altaїr, they would not be hindered any longer. Guilt descended on his already stooped shoulders. His lover thought him dead. And Maria… the pain in his chest redoubled. As much as he had resented her in the early years of her and Altaїr’s marriage, they had grown close. There had always been tension, but they both had been able to put that aside and let their companionability take precedence. To find out that she was suddenly gone… that her mischievous smile would never grace the world again. It was too much to bear. Had Malik any tears left, he would have wept. Instead he gave in to a fit of coughs, the spasms crushing his chest.

Sleep came upon him almost too quickly but was fleeting in its hold upon him. Every rustle of a bush in the wind woke him, made him clutch the dagger tighter. If Abbas had realized that the severed head was not truly his, he would undoubtedly send men after him. There were no guarantees of his safety and Malik did not give in to false hope.

\---

The journey to Damascus was a slow one. Malik did not have the strength to travel quickly or for much longer than a few hours at a time before he needed to rest. Staying off of the main roads also added to the time of his travels. What would have taken three days in his youth, the journey to Damascus took two weeks. Malik bought provisions in small villages along the way, using as little of the coin he had found in the travel bag as he could. Even so, he was able to eat more each day than he had been provided for those two years in his cell.

Malik arrived at Damascus at dusk. He was not stopped by the guards at the gate; they apparently did not think an old man would prove to be a problem. He glanced up at the beams above his head as he passed under the high arch of the city wall, half expecting to see a blur of white robes. The beams were empty.

As he made his way into the city, Malik scanned the crowds. He cursed silently at himself as he gazed about. Altaїr would not have wandered around the streets of a busy city. He would stay in the shadows, remain unseen. Altaїr knew how to disappear. Awash with discouraging thoughts, Malik sought shelter for the night. Going to the Bureau was out of the question. He did not know if the Rafiq there could be trusted to hold his tongue if an agent for Abbas came asking questions. In the end, he looked the poor district until he came across a shelter for travelers such as himself. It was a single room, shabby bunks lining the walls. Those who stayed there would pay for a meal and a bed for the night. It was here that Malik decided to stay and regain his strength. No one paid him any mind in the three weeks he spent recovering. An old, weak cripple was someone to be ignored. At least Malik had that one condolence.

He had thought that his cough would let up once he got out of the damp and stink of the dungeon. If anything, it had gotten worse. The sickness was relentless in its stubbornness to cling to his lungs.

Regardless of his sickness, Malik gathered enough strength to continue his journey. It was a risk, going to Jerusalem. If Abbas had seen through the farce, it would be the first place he looked. It was where Malik’s family was, where his supporters lived. It was also a likely place for Altaїr to stop. It was where the events of his life had taken a dramatic turn, it had been a place of frequent travel to visit Malik.

A week later, he was walking into the city that had become somewhat of a second home. It held so many memories. Some of his best and worst times had come from his time in that city. It was also the most dangerous city for him to be seen in. So he made a solemn swear to stay hidden, to not seek out those in the city who had by then most likely heard of his death. He could offer no comfort to Naji, to his wife. He forbade himself from feeling the desire to seek out his son; he would be nearly three years old by now. So Malik sought a shelter in the shadows, away from the cutting wind of late fall.

Only after night fell did Malik venture to the one person he could visit.

His hand shifted over the cold stone, the name so familiar scratched on its surface.

“I wonder what you would have done in my place, brother. I have fallen so far, been betrayed one too many times. You would have known what to say to me.” Malik sighed, the action bringing on a fit of wet coughs. He had to support himself weakly on the gravestone until the attack passed. When he gained control over himself, he laughed softly. “It seems I can still rely on you for support, Kadar.” Had Malik had any tears left, his eyes would have welled with them. Now all he could do was feel the ache in his chest from his coughing fit.

Gentle footsteps approached from behind him. Not sneaking, but announcing. The voice that followed was familiar but Malik could not place it at first.

“Dai?”

Malik swiftly turned, hand going to the dagger at his waist. “Who goes?” In the dim light of the half moon, his eyes were slow to focus on the face that was so familiar, but now held the wisdom of a man instead of the naivety of youth. His breath caught in his throat. “Naji.”

The Rafiq seemed just as startled. He took a hesitant step forward, spreading his palms to show he was unarmed, that he approached in peace. “Dai, I was told you were dead.”

Malik dared not let his guard down but he could not help a wash of relief at seeing his former student. Unbidden, a surge of pride swelled through Malik upon seeing the black robes of his rank about his shoulders. Naji wore them well. “And so Abbas believes, or I dearly hope he still does. If not, then my end will come much faster than I anticipated.”

Naji drew closer and Malik could then discern his concerned gaze from underneath his white hood. The man meant him no harm, Malik saw. He still had one man left who he could trust. “Have you a place to stay?”

Malik shook his head. “I just arrived today.”

Naji jumped at the opportunity, almost desperate to help the man who he revered above all others. “Please, stay with me and my family.”

As much as Malik wanted to accept, he had to warn the Rafiq of the dangers of such an action. “You can’t do that, Naji. If Abbas finds that you are protecting me, he will slaughter your family as he slaughtered Sef.”

“For you, I will take that risk.” Naji would not budge on this, Malik knew. Still, he had to try to dissuade him. No one else should have to get hurt because of him.

“Am I worth as much as that?”

Naji was strong in his conviction and he appeared determined to tell his side. “You were my first instructor. You taught me well and you have my trust and respect. I will not allow you to sleep on the streets. I will find a place in the city for you to stay tomorrow, but for tonight I will risk taking you into my home.”

“You do not need to do this, Naji.” Now Malik was pleading with him, but quickly losing strength. The day’s travel had worn him down and his knees threatened to buckle under his weight. He wanted no more than to take up the offer, but his mind would not sit still.

“I do, Brother. I never believed that you killed Sef. The man who taught me could never do such a thing.”

Malik was about to protest again when he was overcome with a fit of coughs. He doubled over with the force of them and when he gained control over himself he found Naji at his side, supporting him. In one swift move, the man pulled Malik’s arm over his shoulders and took a firm hold of his waist. Malik had no choice but to go with him.

“Come, Brother.” Naji supported him as they walked their way through the deserted streets of Jerusalem. Naji was more than forthcoming with information that made Malik’s chest ache even more. “Your wife and son are here, Dai. They made it safely. I found them a good home.”

Malik had to clear his throat before answering. He felt that he never deserved such a loyal man, willing to help him in his direst need. “Thank you, Brother.”

“Will you see them?”

He had been expecting that question, so he answered with the response he had been repeating to himself ever since he decided to go to Jerusalem. “I cannot. They cannot know that I live. If word spreads then anyone I have ever cared for can be a hostage. I must protect them.” Naji understood. Malik could tell by his solemn silence. “I will only stay for the winter, until the roads become safe from rain and sleet. I have to keep up my search for Altaїr.”

He half expected Naji to question the motive behind his quest and was surprised when he heard his response. “While you are here I will relay what information on his whereabouts that I hear.”

Again Malik felt his chest swell with pride, with such profound relief that he had found someone so loyal. “He will not be so easy to find as that, but I thank you, Naji.”

\---

So Malik stayed the winter in Jerusalem and, true to his word, set off again when the spring staved off the rainstorms with its promise of the dry heat of summer. His travels took him from city to city, each one bringing no news of Altaїr’s whereabouts. As the months passed, Malik felt the pull of despair but never gave in to it. It only served to drive him on. The illness in his lungs worsened, but still he carried on. Each city he visited could house the man he sought. He listened in on conversations, sought out any hovel that Altaїr was likely to stay in.

Months passed and another winter fell upon the land. Malik thought upon returning to Jerusalem to wait it out as he had before, but thought it best to not revisit the city where he was most likely to be caught if Abbas was indeed looking for him. So Malik found an abandoned cottage in the outskirts of one small town. The damp seemed to stick to his lungs, the cold clinging to his bones. The winter passed by and left him a wreck. Coughing seemed to be just as common as breathing, the ache in his chest never going away. He struggled to pull in breaths even while at rest.

Still Malik went on, slow in his travels but steadfast of heart.

Time passed and Malik came upon the Assassin fortress of Alamut, far to the east and on the south shore of the Caspian Sea. Two years had transpired since his flight from Masyaf. He was so tired, the weight of age and illness heavy upon him. Something told him that his continued search for Altaїr was in vain, but still he persisted. He had not traveled for two years and countless miles to stop without ever seeing the man he sought. Altaїr was worth more than him giving up. Altaїr was worth everything, even his death. More still, Altaїr was worth living for.

The marketplace was hot in the midmorning sun, making Malik’s slow dragging pace even more labored. He struggled to pull in breaths, the hot dusty air scratching at his sickness-ridden lungs. He needed to rest, just for a moment.

Malik made his way to a thankfully shaded alley in the bustling market. He leaned against the warm wall, catching his breath. His tired eyes scanned the crowd, seeking out what he could. His eyesight, unlike any other strength he once possessed, had never dwindled. A flash of white caught Malik’s attention, his mind telling him that it was just that. His heart thought something different. The more he looked at that white figure, the more his chest swelled. He knew that hood, he knew those broad shoulders. They were stooped with helplessness, but still they were familiar.

When the man turned his hooded head in his direction Malik was struck by the look in those tired amber eyes. There was such profound grief embedded in his expression, his every move defeated.

Malik tried to call out to the man, but his throat clenched around the words, sending him into a fit of coughs that tore at his lungs. He tasted blood, but ignored it. A youth ran by and Malik was able to catch his sleeve, pulling him to a stop.

Managing a choking whisper, Malik gave a pleading order the startled boy. “Please, that man in the white hood. Get his attention, bring him here.”

The youth scurried off, eyes wide and frightened. Hope fell from Malik as he disappeared in the crowd. His eyes went back to the man in the white hood, saw him turn away. His legs gave out from underneath him and he slumped against the warm wall of the alleyway, his vision blurring with sudden tears. He felt he was choking, but did not know what on. Perhaps he was choking on his own lungs. His body was betraying him. All those years of training his body and coping with one arm had not prepared him for drowning in his own blood, collapsed and uselessly propped against a wall. At least his sight had never given out. He focused all his attention on gazing at the man he had spent his whole life following, trying to best, and loving even through the hurt and betrayal.

Then suddenly those amber eyes turned on him and they were just as bright as Malik remembered, a whisper of hope overshadowing the desperate despair. He coughed again, his feet losing their holding on the dusty ground. He felt himself slipping down, down…

And then there were arms about him, a voice so painfully familiar in his ear. It was so distraught, so fearful, but all Malik could feel was peace. Safety and…

“Safety and peace, Altaїr.” His rasping voice was but a whisper, his lungs constricting upon themselves. He no longer felt their burning pain as he pulled in breaths. Perhaps he was no longer breathing. He could hear the man stammering, asking him how he had survived, telling him that he would get him help, saying that he would make everything better. He spoke fervently, of the Apple, of how he had thought Malik had died, of every way he could help him get better.

It was all for naught. Both men knew this but neither could say it. They had both seen enough dying men to know when the end was near.

A smile came over Malik’s lips then, pulling at his wrinkled and bearded cheeks, bearing his age so plainly. He wanted to say goodbye, he wanted to tell the man of the love he had always felt for him. But Altaїr already knew. He had always said it, just silently. It was always the unspoken communication between them. The silent discourse. He needed no words in those last moments. His hand reached up - the wrinkled hand of an old man - and touched Altaїr’s cheek. He felt the years of grief upon his skin, the roughness of a beard long gone untended. Malik had finally found him. After years of wandering, of waiting, of the damp and of the sickness, he had finally found the other half of his soul.

There were tears in those amber eyes, slicking down his cheeks. Malik felt their warmth on his hand, their salty dampness so full of life even as he felt his limbs grow cold. But he did not feel it. He did not feel his lungs filling with fluid and collapsing, did not feel his heart give out. Malik felt so warm in the embrace that he had lived with for so many of his younger years; he felt so much at peace with the man who was his heart, was his passion, was his life, his Brother and his Creed.

Then he could not even see the man, his vision gone to pure white. As white as the robes he had donned on the day he became an Assassin. But he still felt those arms around him, now clutching him close, now rocking his body. He did not hear the heart-wrenching wails, only felt the warmth of the man’s breath and his arms pulling him close. And then not even that.

It had been worth it, all the struggles, all the pain, just to be in this man's embrace one last time.

It was silent, it was warm.

In Altaїr’s arms he was safe. In death, he was at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NO DON'T LEAVE YET. DON'T HATE ME. There will be an epilogue next week!   
> I just want to let all of my lovely readers know how much I appreciate your support. Thanks for sticking around for so long. You guys are the reason why I write. I know this chapter was tough, so take care of yourself, yeah?   
> Stay tuned for next week's concluding installment of Silent Discourse: Chapter 45: Epilogue: Requisition in Reverence.


	45. Epilogue: Requisition in Reverence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue in this chapter comes directly from the novel.

The hill that was so familiar to his eye loomed high above him. Though it was too far to see, he knew the ultimate destination that he sought lay atop that hill; that looming gray fortress that held so many generations of memories. The horse he rode carried him ever closer to the city of his birth, unseen by his amber eyes for some twenty long years.

Unbidden, Altaїr’s thoughts turned to all he had gone through just to return to the place that was the birth of all that was good and terrible in his life. No matter how he tried to stave off the thought, it inevitably fell to the memory that haunted his waking thoughts. The utter horror he felt then was now was a dull tremor in his chest, but the feel of his dying lover in his arms was always vivid. His lover, who he had thought dead for two years, had found him in that marketplace against all odds. He had lived just long enough to feel Altaїr’s embrace. Malik had been more cloth than man, a mere shadow of what he had been in his prime. He seemed such a broken man, but the gentle smile on his face was utterly peaceful even after he pulled his last labored breath. The man had suffered so much in his life and much of it could be blamed on Altaїr. The death of his brother, the loss of his arm, heartbreak upon his feelings of being replaced by Maria, his imprisonment… all culminating into the sickness that had eventually caused his death.

And yet, even after all that struggle, he had been at peace in Altaїr’s arms.

Guilt had worn on Altaїr for years, compounded with helpless sorrow at knowing that he had been the cause of the man’s suffering. Yet, Malik had still sought him out. It had been his last mission in life to find him. Altaїr felt so undeserving of that devotion. So he had continued secluding himself, feverishly pouring over the Apple that was his only solace from the crushing guilt. Sef’s family and Darim had left him even before Malik had come to him. He had been alone in his grief.

He did not even know what brought him to begin his long awaited journey back to Masyaf. Perhaps it was to continue his atonement for all the wrongs he had wrought, to somehow stop running away and face the destruction he had brought upon the Brotherhood. It was what Malik would have told him to do, had he still had a voice to use. Even so, Altaїr heard his late lover’s words in his ears as if he were a spirit hounding his every move.

Altaїr had tried to drown out the voice with his obsessive study of the Apple. That artifact, after all, was as much of a bringer of destruction as he was. He poured endlessly over that golden, otherworldly surface. He listened to the whispered words it told him, wrote down all that he had learned from it. Still it never quite gave him the solace he sought. He had been stuck in that cycle for far too long and eventually he came to a conclusion.

Even after all the people he had loved had died or left him, he still had one thing that he could save: the Brotherhood.

So Altaїr had set out from Alamut on the long pilgrimage to the place he had always called home. It was the only place where he could think to find salvation from the crushing despair that had settled upon him.

His arrival in Masyaf was a shaky one and try as he might to stay hidden, whispers of rumors of the return of the Mentor ran rampant through the dark streets. Masyaf had truly fallen from grace, but rebellion against Abbas was not far off the minds of the residents. Just that much hope was enough to keep Altaїr limping on, setting up a plan of attack with a rogue band of loyal Assassins. At first it was a shock to find men who still adhered to the old ways, who still looked upon him with such reverence even though they would have only been children when he had been in power. His legacy had lived on, even when Altaїr was in his secluded despair.

It all seemed helpless until one encounter turned his heart from anguish to hope.

Altaїr was walking through the empty streets, the road in such disrepair that he was struggling to step around the gaping holes and rifts on his unsteady legs. Behind him were the all too familiar sounds of someone unskilled in stealth trying to remain undetected. A scuff of dirt, a ripple of robes caught in the wind. He continued walking and the shadow followed. Eventually, he stopped in his tracks. His legs were tiring even from such a short stroll.

“It’s alright,” he said to the night, his voice rough with age and disuse. “If you were going to kill me, you would have done it by now.”

The shadow following him spoke up after a moment of hesitation. “You were just going to let me do it?” A young man. It would explain some of the lack of masterful stealth. Even with Abbas forbidding training, the loyal Assassins had found ways around that order. It still was a far cry from the training Altaїr had given to the Assassins when he was Mentor. But that was long ago, in a different age.

Altaїr chuckled at that question. The man was not only untrained, but naïve as well. The Brotherhood was not dead but it certainly was not strong enough to teach some common sense. “I have not spent my life walking the path of a warrior in order to let myself be taken by a young pup at a fountainhead.”

The young man seemed startled. “You heard me?”

If his skills were seen as competent, then the training he had received really had been poor. It was yet another sign of the weakness of the rebellious Assassins. “Of course I heard you. I heard you approach with all the stealth of an elephant and I heard that you favor your left side. Were you to attack, I should move to my right in order to meet your weaker side.” If he were to take back the Brotherhood, he had might as well begin teaching again. There was much knowledge that the Assassins needed to know if they were to stand up to Abbas.

“Wouldn’t I anticipate that?” The youth surely had some spite behind his undeniable tentativeness.

Altaїr continued with his lecture. Even after so long, he was still the teacher, the Mentor. “Well, that would all depend on the target. You would, of course, know your target well and be aware of his own combat skills.”

“I know that this one has combat skills unmatched, Altaїr Ibn-La’Ahad.” So this shadow following him indeed knew who he was and what he was capable of. Beneath his inexperience was wisdom and thoughtfulness. He had, after all, not attacked Altaїr. Not as naïve as he had originally thought.

Altaїr chuckled again. This man had fire in his chest. It was something that he admired. His own fire had seemed to have burned out long ago. “Do you indeed? You would have been a child when I last called Masyaf my own.”Altaїr finally turned towards his conversation partner, the man no longer concealed by the long shadows cast by the bright moon. Indeed, he did not even have his hood pulled up to conceal his face. His appearance gave Altaїr pause. The young man seemed familiar, yet Altaїr knew he could never have met him before. There was something about his voice as well…

“I was,” the oddly familiar young man continued. “I was a newborn.”

Unease and intrigue settled over Altaїr. “Then were you not indoctrinated against me?”

The young man took the opportunity to step closer, bringing them to stand not five paces from one another. He seemed to carry about his shoulders a vital piece of information that Altaїr could not discern, even with his all-seeing Eagle Vision. “Some are more easily indoctrinated than others. There are many who have remained loyal to the old codes, greater numbers as the pernicious effects of the new ways become more pronounced. But I have even more reason to remain loyal than most.”

These words gave Altaїr pause. He studied the youth’s face with a newfound intrigue. There was something familiar about the young man and at first Altaїr could not place it. He studied the Assassin and it donned on him. He found it idiotic that he had not noticed before. The heavy brow set in determination, the constant downturn of the corners of his lips, the tenseness in his jaw. The man even kept a bit of scruff at the tip of his chin.

It could not be.

“What is your name?” A strange dizzying sensation moved down his back, followed by a wash of cold chill. Somehow he knew the answer, but he needed to hear it from the man himself.

Indeed the man spoke, boldness entering his voice as he went on. “I have two names. I have the name which I’m known by to most of the Order, which is Tazim. But I have another name, my given name, given to me by my mother in order to honor my father. He died when I was but a baby, but to death on the orders of Abbas. His name was…”

Tears welled in Altaїr’s eyes, his feet, unbidden to him, carrying him closer to the son of the one man who had been most important in his life, whose memory still haunted every thought. The one man he had truly cared about over all others. The man who had escaped Abbas, unknown to even Altaїr, secluded himself to save all those he loved including his own son, and who had finally found Altaїr after such a trial of travel and illness only to die in his arms. Altaїr choked, hardly able to force the name from his lips. “Malik.”

And here was his son, whom Altaїr had never heard of until that moment. He found himself so overwhelmed with emotion that all he could do was place his shaking hands on Tazim’s shoulders. This young man was the living legacy of Malik. Indeed, he could have been the very reincarnation of his late lover. Looking upon him was like looking upon a ghost of his past, before all of the evils of the world had fallen on him.

Altaїr could not help a soft laugh, choking with the knot that had formed in his throat. “My child. I should have known. The eyes. You have your father’s eyes.” Finally the humor of his laugh caught up with him. “His stealth I’m not so sure about but… you have his spirit for sure. I didn’t know - I never knew he had a son.”

“My mother was sent away from here after he was imprisoned. As a young man, I returned to the Order.”

“To seek revenge?” It had certainly crossed Altaїr’s mind more than once over his twenty years of exile, after he thought he had seen Malik’s severed head, and again after the real Malik perished.

But that was not what Malik would have done. Apparently his son thought the same. Yet another way this man was like his father. “Eventually, maybe. Whatever best suited his memory. Now that you have come, I see the way.”

In that moment, Altaїr knew he was not alone. For so long after Malik’s death he had wallowed in grief, in despair. He had poured over the information the Apple provided, his only solace in the blackness that had descended over his life when all hope abandoned him. Now a piece of Malik had returned to his aid. It truly was like holding the ghost of his lover from long ago. His very spirit seemed to gaze at him through those dark brown eyes, old with wisdom and yet free of the torment his father had endured.

Whatever was to come, whatever the future brought, Altaїr knew he could accomplish it with Tazim at his side. He would bring Abbas to his rightful place with the young man and all those who remained loyal beside him. It would not be revenge. That would do injustice to Malik’s memory. The Assassin Brotherhood needed a leader who would bring them to glory once again. The true Assassins had chosen their leader. Malik had told him that long ago. Altaїr had forgotten those words, but now he thought them to himself, heard them as if Malik was whispering them in his ear, and seemingly for the first time truly believed them.

_You are the Mentor now, Altaїr… I can think of no one more capable of leading the Brotherhood._

The words were echoed before him in those intense eyes that were so like the man he had always admired, always loved but could never voice that sentiment to. It seemed so trivial now that his partner was gone. He had loved Maria and told her as such, but he had been too prideful to tell the other person he had always loved. It was simply another regret he dwelled upon.

Altaїr had spent his young life in constant battle with Malik, striving to achieve his goals before him, fighting with him because he felt that was the only way he could be close to the man. After his own narcissism and pride got the better of him, he had then sought to atone for the grievous actions that had almost utterly destroyed the one man he cared about. Even now, eighteen years after he had died, Altaїr still felt the need to atone to Malik.

Now his son stood before him, looking so much like Malik that it hurt to lay eyes upon him. It was his last chance to make all right, to restore order to the Brotherhood and to honor the last remaining legacy of Malik.

He would bring safety to Masyaf, he would give peace to the Brotherhood. With the fond memory of Malik at one side and the man’s son on his other, Altaїr sought to restore proper order to the Brotherhood of Assassins and to give renewed voice to the Creed he had once disavowed. He would create a legacy that would outlive even those who followed generations after his time. He would be the man Malik had helped and inspired him to be.

Thus Altaїr sought to do just that, with the memory of Malik close to his heart.

 

\---

The End

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. A little more than ten months and it's complete. Oh my gosh, thank you so much for all of your support through this project. I myself find it hard to believe that it is over. And here I was thinking that this story would only be three chapters long.
> 
> So thank you, dear readers. You are my inspiration, my motivation, my Brotherhood.
> 
> Safety and peace be upon you.


End file.
